Dreaming's Not A Crime
by Kaira1
Summary: Hermione goes a-wandering in Hogsmeade and bumps into Snape. Well, it's to be expected, isn't it? [HGSS, LEMON Chpt 6,12 & 28]. RR. go to www.dnac.blogspot.com for info 15JAN
1. Deceptions

Dreaming's Not A Crime.  
  
Chpt1: Deceptions.  
  
"Get off!" She screeched, clawing at the person in front of her. "I believe you have some explaining to do, Miss Gates." A voice hissed into her ear, and she recognised it as belonging to her Potions teacher. // I knew that using that ageing potion was a bad idea! // She thought, wishing that she had planned it more carefully before going through with it. She was almost gagging, and the hand around her neck tightened slightly.  
  
"I'm not in the mood for games, so speak up!" Even if she had wanted to answer him, she wouldn't have been able to, as his fingers pressed tightly into her throat, so the only sound she was able to produce, resembled a weak gurgling sound. Snape's eyes bored into her, before placing her under a partial body bind, and releasing her.  
  
"Name." He barked, waving the wand threateningly in her face. "I told you," Hermione managed in return, "My name is Gates." "And would you happen to have a first name, if Gates is, indeed, your surname." "Heather.."  
  
// Oh God, he's going to kill me! //  
  
"My name is Heather Gates." "Heather Gates, eh? And what are you doing in Hogsmeade?" "What do you want?!!" She shouted angrily, horrified at having been dragged into this alleyway by her teacher.  
  
"Have you been sent here by the Ministry? Is that it?" His mouth was twitching as he spoke. "I assure you, that you needn't be wasting your time, as I have told you many times, because I have not been dealing in those fields for many years now." "What?" Hermione didn't have a clue what he was talking about.  
  
"My loyalties are at Hogwarts, and if the Ministry will continue to insist on spying on me, then I will be forced to inform Albus Dumbledore of this."  
  
"I am not from the Ministry!" She said, trying to silence him, "I don't know what you're talking about, but please, could you let me out!" "Not from the Ministry? Shit. What the hell have you been following me round for then?"  
  
// Oops. So he had noticed. // "I.I haven't been following you, Mister Professor Sir.."  
  
// Oh my God, Hermione, you sound like such an idiot! // "The name, is Severus Snape." He said, releasing her from the spell. After having been held so tightly, Hermione fell abruptly forward into him.  
  
"Oh.. Sorry. erm. I'm just going to go now, okay?" "I don't think so." He grabbed her hand, and pulled her back.  
  
"Not so quickly, Miss Gates. I do not take kindly to espionage, so I am sure that it would be in your best interests to avoid spying on me on future occasions. Have I made myself in any way unclear?" His nose was millimetres from her own, and Hermione prayed that he wouldn't notice her trembling in his fierce grip. "Well, Mr Snape," she said, pulling free, "I do not take kindly to accusations or threats. Now if you are quite done, I will bid you a good day, and be gone." She turned around, and marched out of the alleyway, half expecting a pair of strong hands to clutch around her throat once more. // Oh my God! Hermione! // She thought, // That was Snape! You just totally snubbed Professor Snape, and he's just standing there doing nothing! // Half an hour later, and she was climbing out of the hump of the one-eyed witch at Hogwarts, and scurrying along the hallways towards the Gryffindor towers. It had been a. strange. day, to put it simply, and recalling her encounter with her estranged Potions Master, she couldn't help laughing nervously, and thinking // Pigs might fly. // 


	2. Gnosis

Chpt2: Gnosis.  
  
Hermione marched steadily onwards. The dark passageway into the Honeydukes basement seemed to go on and on forever, but the knowledge of her destination kept her going. // I can't believe Snape caught me staring at him! // She thought as she walked. It had been exactly one week since, and she had finally convinced herself that not even a death threat would make her back away from an experience like this. // Heather Gates, honestly! Couldn't think of a better name, could you? No wonder he's suspicious! // Yet another stupid mistake on her part to add to the pile. The ceiling became lower, and she finally saw the rickety stepladder going upwards. A small bag at her side was soon emptied of its contents, and within ten minutes, she had drank the sparkling blue potion, and changed into new clothes.  
  
~*~*~*~ Hogsmeade had always been cold at this time of year, the trees were all bare, and the first signs of winter snow were building up in the sky. // Christmas. // Thought Hermione wistfully, // The perfect season. // Her thoughts contradicted everything that she knew she should believe (not being a great fan of superstition), but for some unknown reason, she felt that nothing could ever go wrong at Christmas. The Three Broomsticks was bustling with its usual throng of weekend customers, but Hermione was able to wade her way through the crowds, and into a quiet table at the back of the pub. // Adult life. Is it really all in the mind, or does it simply come with age. // She thought, and began to observe the people around her. No one seemed to have noticed her presence in this comfortable assemblage twice a week for the past month, during which period, she had wandered around the village, becoming accustomed to their routines and life-styles. Life in this sort of society was very different to life in a Muggle society, or even life at Hogwarts.  
  
She glanced across the room again, sweeping the tables gracefully with her eyes, and froze. // Not again! // She thought, with resignation. 


	3. All At Once

Chpt3: All At Once.  
  
He swept towards her, cloak billowing slightly as he moved, and slammed his hands onto the small table she was at. "What the hell are you doing here again" he snarled at her, strands of his straight, black hair falling over his face.  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, as innocently as she could possibly manage. "Don't toy with me." // That is exactly what I am intent on doing, Snape. // She thought, before smiling sweetly, and saying:  
  
"I thought I might have a butterbeer. Would you care to join me, Mr Snape?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes, and his face seemed to contort painfully. Hermione could almost see the thoughts running through his head with lightning speed, as he sought out a way in which to deal with her. He straightened, and stared down at her, his form looming above her like a tall, black pillar. He sneered.  
  
Oh, the most daring heart would crumble with one of those looks, as he made your very core feel inadequate and insignificant. "No, Miss Gates, I would not." She stood up, and faced him, his cold eyes boring into hers as she resisted the desperate urge to flinch, and look away. After a moment, he stiffly nodded his farewell, and departed. // Did I just do that? // She collapsed back into the chair, her hands trembling. // Did I just stand up there and face him? Snape, of all people, what the hell is going on?!! //  
  
All thoughts of butterbeer forgotten, she found herself standing, and stepping out into the darkened street. She had the vague idea of making her way back into Honeydukes, and back to school, but something stopped her.  
  
Hermione paused, her hand outstretched towards the shop's door-handle, and one foot on the low step that was at its entrance.  
  
He was there, she could feel it. She could sense him, everywhere. She turned around, and squinted her eyes, trying to find him in the shadows. "Where are you, Snape." She breathed, to herself, and let out a high pitched shriek when the reply came into her ear, directly beside her. "Where do you think?" A few people who were still outside shopping looked up at her, and she tried to smile, pretending to shrug it off.  
  
He was right there, inches away, his cold breath on her face as she shied away from him.  
  
"What do you want?!" She squealed, taking a tentative step back.  
  
He stepped towards her again.  
  
"I'm trying to figure out," he paused, his lips twisting slightly, "I'm trying to figure out why you are such an inadequate liar, and whether you thought that I might actually fall for your contorted tales."  
  
"What.." "What am I talking about? You know exactly what, but I don't think I'm going to do anything about it on this occasion. You see, there is absolutely no record that a witch by the name of Heather Gates has ever existed, and I find mirages rather intriguing."  
  
"You have obviously made a mistake, I suggest that you."  
  
// What the hell is going on! // Hermione found herself thinking once more. He had suddenly leaned forward, and caught her mouth in his, before biting hard on her bottom lip. She sharply pulled away, and stumbled backwards.  
  
"Oh my God! Professor!" She cried, her eyes becoming ever wider.  
  
"Shut up." He said, grabbing her wrist, and apparating them both into a part of the village that she didn't recognise.  
  
"I don't think I'm going to kill you, you know." He cooed into her ear, gripping her jaw in his hand. "Not right now, anyway." 


	4. A Gargoyle's Delight

Chpt4: A Gargoyle's Delight.  
  
Hermione wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out at him and scream until her lungs exploded, but the strong grip around her hand would not allow it.  
  
// This is all wrong! // She thought, indifferent to the acid words that he was hissing at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the sensations that he was forcing on her. "Snape." she whimpered into his hand, her voice strangely weak. Somehow, gaining six years physically hadn't in any way improved her poorly adept muscles. With a few specified words from Snape, the scene changed from a derelict corner street, into a vast, well-lit tunnel. Various statues adorned the walls, each one looking up, startled as the two entered the hallway.  
  
Had Hermione not been so near to hysterics, she would, no doubt, have taken more than a glance at her surroundings. Two jaunty busts of a Welsh Duke and Duchess were chattering incessantly, while a statue of Queen Elizabeth discussed the finer points of the Feudal System with a painting of a group of peasant girls. Several wood nymphs stood huddled together (as they had for many hundreds of years), and were obviously sharing the latest gossip that they had overheard. As Snape directed Hermione along the tunnel, she was oblivious to the occasional burst of giggles that were to issue from their perfect stone- carved lips.  
  
After what seemed an eternity, Snape jerked her to a stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Around its frame, thick granite columns rose upwards, upon which, one on each side, sat two bickering gargoyles. Their guttural mutterings echoed clearly, as they argued in some foul unknown language.  
  
"Silence!" Snape shouted, and Hermione found her mind being dragged back from the haven of her sub-conscious.  
  
Her jaw hurt from his steady grip and her head snapped upwards. The gargoyles eyed her suspiciously, with their wide, curious eyes.  
  
"La vie est morte." Snape said drawing the two fiends' attention back to him.  
  
// That's funny, // Hermione found herself thinking, feeling the necessity to laugh. // I never really thought of Snape as being a French kind of person. Trust him to turn one of the world's most beautiful languages into something cold and depressing just like him. //  
  
The gargoyle on the right nodded, and the door flung open. They stepped through, and Hermione wondered of Snape had noticed the looks the two statues were giving each other, before bursting into fits of.. Could you call it laughter?.. She didn't finish that thought. She was abruptly pushed into a chair, and she could not have failed to hear the clearly audible "Petrificus totalus." Her eyes swivelled around, trying to catch a glimpse of her assailant, and she couldn't help but remember casting that very same spell on Neville in her very first year. Now that she was experiencing it for herself, she felt very sorry for what she had done all those. what. six years ago. She repeated it in her mind. // Six years. If anything, you'd think that six years would have taught me to stay away from Snape, but nooooo. Hermione Granger, you're still the same insufferable know-it-all you were in the first year, and you couldn't wait five months for graduation before thinking of some fantastic plan to "improve the educational experience". Honestly! Why did I have to mess with Snape?!! // "Miss Gates.. Miss Gates, for God's sake, I am not as patient as I may appear." Her eyes swivelled back in the direction of the voice, locating its source: a very peeved-looking Potions Master staring her directly in the face. "I hope that I haven't interrupted too greatly on your daydreams, but I rather loathe repeating myself.. Do you, or do you not, have any particular reason for being in Hogsmeade at the very same time as myself every week?" // Can you get any dumber?! I'm on a full body-bind! Would you like me to answer that using my psychic powers? // She simply rolled her eyes in reply, and cringed deeper into the seat (well, as far as a full body-bind will allow you to cringe, which was less than a millimetre). His mouth curled into a furious snarl, and she bit her lip, as was habitual when she was nervous. // Wait a sec, if my mouth is frozen shut, then how.. Oh. My. God. Snape only ever looks that mad when someone pisses him off.. Really pisses him off. //  
  
"Did I just say that out loud?!" She asked meekly, realising that he must have released her mouth from the spell. . 


	5. Sarcasm is the Lowest Form of Wit

Chpt5: Sarcasm is The Lowest Form of Wit.  
  
"Unless I have somehow acquired a ghost, or we both seem to be imagining things, then yes, you did say that out loud." He snarled into her face. "Oh. oops. I mean, erm, I."  
  
"Don't make me have to shut you up again, Miss Gates, women such as yourself should remain silent. unless." He smirked, his beetle black eyes glinting in the firelight.  
  
"Now then, to business; You. Me. Hogsmeade. Explain." Hermione tried to think of an answer. Why had she kept going to Hogsmeade? She had, at first, intended of finding herself a part-time job, working in the village every Thursday and Saturday, earning a few galleons that she could call her own. That, had been her intention, but then something had happened. she had seen Snape; alone and divided, in The Three Broomsticks, and something had happened. She had felt something, something that she had never felt in concern to him - pity. // How can a man live like that? Isolated from everyone, rejected by the rest, disliked by the few that could possibly care. except for Dumbledore, of course, but him alone. // The two of them, apparently, worked to similar schedules, he, visiting the village every week to collect potions supplies and recipes, and she, sneaking out of the school grounds, thinking that walking out of the Divinations classroom, was quite possibly the best thing she had ever done.  
  
After that, she had simply sat at her small corner table, drinking from a flagon a Butterbeer, and watched the people around her; intrigued with the way that their daily routines seemed to revolve around their afternoon breaks, and the quick-stop for a drink at the homely pub. "Thinking up a convincing excuse?" Snape brought her back to reality. "I wouldn't bother, you are an appalling liar." "I am not a liar, Mr Snape, I simply have other things on my mind." Fierce lips crashed onto her own, as he savaged her mouth. Hermione's eyes flew wide in horror, until it slowed, and she was allowed to relax slightly.  
  
"Is that enough to convince you to remain on the cause at hand. or must I take more. desperate measures?"  
  
"Erm." Her entire face felt numb. "No, no, that's fine, it'll do." The body bind was realised, and she slumped into the chair. "Answer the question." "I - I've been in Hogsmeade because. because I am doing a study.yes. A study comparing wizard and Muggle behavioural patterns. I have to observe people. I do it in Muggle pubs too. It's for a study, you know." She wanted to add 'please don't hurt me!' onto the end, but managed to clamp her mouth shut in time to prevent herself from doing anything stupid. He eyed her suspiciously. "A study?" His voice was cynical. Hermione nodded her head - a little too quickly, perhaps, but he did not comment. "Like a survey, but without any questions. I just sit and watch. It's fun, you should try it." // Oh, bravo, Hermione, you sound convincing as hell! // "And tell me, then, Miss Gates, what do you see when you are observing?" "I see you." // And the foot goes straight in there. // Hermione stiffened, waiting for Snape's next approach, but instead, he rolled back on his heels and looked at her for a moment. "Hmm. Tell me." "I see a man with many secrets, too many secrets." She began, careful of how she chose her words, amazed that she was being given this chance. "They burden you, and you are tired, worn down by them." A nod, indicating her to continue. or had she imagined it? "I see someone who is alone, who is surrounded by many people, and who builds a wall around himself. To protect these. secrets, perhaps, I do not know. I see someone who is strong, passionate, bitter, respected, but I do not know where he has come from, or all the troubles that he has faced.." Snape was glancing at the floor to his left, his eyes pensive, as his long robe swept the floor. Should she delve further? "Was it." could she say the name? "Was it Voldemort?" His head snapped up, his eyes glaring straight into hers.  
  
"What did you say?" A spine-chilling whisper; She had pushed him too far. "Nothing. Nothing, I'm sorry." "Is that what this is about? You want to know about The Dark Lord? I will tell you about Him. I will tell you things that will make your blood curl, and you will wake up screaming every night at the very horror of their thought." He was leaning towards her again, and she pressed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the anger that had flared up in his eyes. He stood up, and began to pace the room. "Do you want to know about the people he killed? Let me think, you already know about Bertha Jorkins, and the latest, Cedric Diggory. Did you know about when he killed the Henderso-" "Stop it! Stop it!" she shouted, also rising to her feet. "I won't listen to this, this isn't. Please, just stop." The school had never been the same after Cedic's death. Harry still woke up sometimes, sometimes crying out in terror, sometimes sobbing. no one dared say anything. Snape stopped pacing, tears were streaming down her eyes. "It isn't just the Dark Lord, but he's a part of me now. Him, and everything he did, everything . I did. I've learnt to live with it. I don't think you could."  
  
She looked up at him, noticing that he seemed to have crossed the room without her noticing, and was now standing in front of her. Close, so close. too close. 


	6. More than Just a Wolf in a Lion Skin

Chpt6: More Than Just a Wolf in a Lion-Skin.  
  
Neither of them moved. They simply stood, face to face, silent pillars in the centre of the room.  
  
Hermione sniffed, feeling pathetic at having broken down in front of him, her teacher.  
  
A hand at her cheek startled her back to reality, as it wiped away her tears.  
  
It was Snape; standing there, looking down at her, his features showing no sign of the conflict that she saw in his eyes. // There's so much pain. // She thought, and closed her eyes, her hand meeting his at her cheek, as she leaned into his touch. His skin was soft. yet firm, she realised, before rebuking herself for thinking such a thought. She opened her eyes, looking directly at him, as she slowly directed his hand across her cheek, and over her lips, the gold ring on his middle finger tugging slightly on her bottom lip. "Can I. Can I see it?" she asked, curiosity overtaking her. Her eyes flicked down at his left hand, which she still held in her grasp.  
  
Snape didn't answer, instead, he stared down at her for a moment, a strange expression in his gaze.  
  
He shrugged, before using his right hand to slide the sleeve up past the elbow.  
  
The Mark could be clearly seen, not black, as Harry had so often described it, but the same tone as his own skin, only just protruding slightly, like a badly-healed scar.  
  
This was it, she knew, this was the very cause itself; The reason behind all those years of torment.  
  
She could feel him watching her. // How is it possible that such a small thing could cause so much harm, // she thought, // destroying not only the victims' lives, the bearer's life as well? // A quick glance, in question, and an unspoken answer, and Hermione slowly, and hesitantly, reached out towards it.  
  
The skin was smooth, and the faint ridges could only be felt when you focused on its shape. Hermione explored the Mark with her fingers, tracing then up his arm, and across it, outlining the shape with her fingertips, so that she was barely touching the skin. // So small.. //  
  
The action had been administered before the idea had been registered in her mind, and an instant later, she found her lips exploring its contours. She closed her eyes, and kissed it, before softly licking it, and retracting. Snape had not moved. As before, he simply stood, unspeaking, unwavering, his jaw twitching uncharacteristically.  
  
"I- I'm sorry. I don't have a clue what I'm doing." Hermione breathed after a while, her mind still, apparently, miles behind the rest of her, as she released his arm, and it fell back to his side innocuously.  
  
That's when the rain began. Heavy sheets of magical rain fell from the bewitched ceiling of his quarters, and the two, dry, and alone, came crashing together with magnetic force. A tilted head, and a searching mouth, met quickly and easily, as ravaging tongues beseeched, and received entrance. Hermione gasped, gripping the sides of his robes as though she would fall from a never-ending precipice if she should let go. There was no time for coherent thought, every nerve ending was alive, burning with the glimmering moment. Hips met, and arms encircled bodies, pulling them ever closer to the undeniable end. After an eternity, they separated to draw breath, and the first few garments were discarded, beginning the trail that would eventually lead to the extensive bedroom.  
  
Frantic minutes later, and the two were beneath the covers, mouths joined, as they seduced each other's senses. Snape pulled away, and slid his mouth down her neck, and stopping just below her clavicle.  
  
"Heather." Hermione looked up, his fiery eyes bore straight into hers. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"No," she said, half panting, half laughing from the adrenaline rush. "But you had better carry on before I start thinking it over."  
  
He smiled. // He's smiling!! // The thought rang out through her mind, as she sensed, not only, how privileged she must be, but also how becoming it was to his features.  
  
All thoughts were immediately cut off, as his gentle torture moved from her navel, to below the waistline.  
  
Skilful hands moved up her legs, and under her buttocks, before sliding up her back, as he blew on the curling hairline, and parted her legs.  
  
Firstly, he teased, touching only her thighs with his hands, drawing circles in her bare flesh, and then kissing them away. Hermione's head lolled back, her hips arching towards him, as the shower overhead became a blustering storm. Lightning. A kiss, a flick of the tongue, that's all it took, and Hermione could not tell whether the lightning had been from the excruciatingly sweet sensation that he had bestowed upon her, or from the storm that raged above. She called out. "Severus. Oh Gods, Don't.. don't ever stop." His name slid from her lips, as easily as his tongue slid from his, and tasted her very being. Torture; that's what it was, torture in its sweetest form. She arched fiercely towards him, her body craving to be touched more intimately, her mind oblivious to everything that was happening. Then, a groan, as long fingers ventured within the pulsating walls.  
  
Snape probed his fingers, stretching and flexing, exploring the surroundings. Were his nails too long? He wanted to laugh. At a time like this, a manicure should not be his primary concern, and he reprimanded himself, promising that if he ever did think a manicure would be genial, then he would have to kill himself. Nevertheless, he noted that from 'Heather's' reactions to his touch, that they could not, indeed, be that long. or, at least, not long enough to hurt her beyond the pleasurable boundaries of pain.  
  
He pressed further, his hand now disappearing at the knuckles, as he delved and probed, bringing her pleasure to new heights.  
  
He removed his hands, kissing the tiny button fully, before sliding back up her body. Hermione's hair was strewn across the pillows, his pillows, and her chest rose and fell unevenly, trying in vain to breathe successfully. Her attempts were short lived, for as soon as he came within reach, her arms impulsively stretched out to him, and dragged him up, ready for another kiss. He was there, she knew, wondering whether some sort of sign would be in order, to cross the distance that would separate the now, and the then. Taking the chance, she skimmed her hands down his body, forcefully pushing his hips into her own. Instantly, he was at her entrance, and plunging in. Hermione barely had time to gasp out in pain, before he had withdrawn, and returned with equal strength. This time, she did call out, producing a lingering moan, that came in time with each thrust. Deep cuts were carved into his shoulder blades, but he persisted, until, finally, the pain eased. The ritual continued, her legs winding around his, her hips bucking beneath him, trying with every intensity to bring them closer still, to mould their very flesh into one, until his cries of ecstasy joined with hers in a perfect melody of passion. The reaction was immediate. His became stronger, pounding into her, hitting her hard, each time. Harder, and harder, until. Release. She felt his entire body stiffen, his muscles seize up, above her, as the strongest thrust yet pierced into her, and froze. Lengthy minutes passed before either of them spoke, as they simply lay still, recovering their breaths, aware of each other's racing hearts pumping every drop of that much needed blood around their bodies. After a while, Snape lifted his head, and looked down at her. "So. first-timer, then?" He teased, trying to ignore the heavy tone that he seemed to have gained. Hermione raised her eyebrows, "My mother always told me that you have to try everything once. even the ones you don't like." She looked pointedly at him, before smiling. "I must say, my mother deserves more credit than I'd be ready to give her." A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated into her stomach, and she wriggled. "Hey! That tickles!" With lightening reflexes, she flipped him onto his back, and straddled him. "Fair play. Heather. I guess we could call it a draw." Hermione looked down at him, his face still rosy, and the usual smirk gone, there was no denying that the odd smile could do him the world of good. She leaned in, and kissed him, and he eagerly responded, first, thoroughly kissing the living daylights out of each lip in turn, and then tasting their swollen contours with his tongue, before requesting access for a deeper kiss. ~*~*~*~ "Accio Watch." Hermione muttered, careful not to wake the sleeping form of Severus Snape at her side. It was four-thirty of the same day, and she was beginning to worry as to how much longer the ageing potion would last. Quickly gathering her clothes, she dressed, and sneaked her way back to the door that would lead her back into Hogsmeade. She refused to allow herself to think. Not about him. Not about anything. In fact, at this moment, she sincerely thought that all forms of thought were strictly beyond the capabilities of her extremely confused brain. 


	7. Evolution

Chpt7: Evolution.  
  
Hermione ran down the hallway of the portraits, ignoring the quizzical looks that she drew from the many peering faces. Their voices echoed through her brain, laughing, questioning, and prying as to who she might be, what she might be doing.  
  
The bust of the Welsh Duke called out to her, while the Duchess looked on curiously.  
  
"I say, are you quite alright, dear?" She ignored him, running up to the door, and out into the world. Her knees buckled, and she fell onto the hard concrete floor, gasping for air, before throwing up violently. After five minutes of coughing and spluttering desperately, she was able to wipe her mouth, and stumble out into the street, searching for the Honeydukes sweetshop, and the tunnel back into Hogwarts.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Harry and Ron didn't comment when they saw the state that she had arrived in, and although they had asked what was wrong, they didn't pry, for which Hermione was grateful. "I just don't feel too well." She had said, "I'm a bit tired, I guess. Don't worry about dinner, you can go without me."  
  
Her friends had glanced at her questioningly.  
  
"I'll be fine, I promise." "If you're sure." Harry had shrugged, whilst Ron said,  
  
"I heard it's going to be spaghetti night today.. mmm . It's your loss, Hermione!" She had smiled unconvincingly and said, "Well, be sure to eat double portions, Ron, to make up for my share."  
  
As they had headed out of the portrait hole, Hermione was sure that she heard one of them saying, "Well, maybe it's that time of the month again."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione slowly went up to her private Head Girl bedroom, and closed the door. Finally, she was alone, in the comfort of her own surroundings, and, with the door closed behind her, she slid to the floor, her eyes brimming with tears.  
  
She looked down at her hands, still remembering how the hot skin had felt under her touch. His skin. His touch. His body, his arms reaching out to touch her whilst she continued blindly on.  
  
She wept bitter tears, knowing that it had been as much her fault as his, if not more.  
  
// He doesn't even know who I am! // She shouted mentally to herself.  
  
She had to get him off, had to wipe away his scent, his taste. Running a bath, she was filled with disgust, with bitterness, and self- loathing. She scrubbed, and scrubbed, peeling away layers of her skin, leaving her body raw with pain, and numb from her ordeal. For a moment, as she sat in the now cold bath, she considered the ludicrous idea of simply lying down in the water, letting it seep into her lungs as her indifferent brain slowly drifted away into sleep. Snapping herself out of the trance, Hermione hastily climbed out of the bath, determined not to take any. drastic. actions.  
  
What had she been thinking?! It didn't matter how old she was pretending to be, technically, she was still only seventeen years old. Damn hormones! She buried her head in her pillow, and tried to focus her mind on the gentle rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. Eventually, she turned around, and allowed her mind to wander.  
  
Falling asleep next to Severus. no. Snape, Professor Snape, she corrected, had been one of the most pleasurable things that she had experienced. She closed her eyes. Listening to his breathing as it became more balanced, feeling those strong arms around her as she had dozed had been a comfort, and she hated herself for not being able to deny it. Waking next to him had been. Well, she sat up, that was until she had realised who it was she was waking up next to, and why she was even there. Chocolate. That's what she needed, she needed chocolate. A lot of it. After rummaging through her trunk, she found the rations of the delicious luxury that she had allowed herself for the Winter Term. As soon as she found it, she ripped the wrapper off, indulging in the instant sensation of relief that it caused to flood through her.  
  
As for her diet, she would think about it later. After all, she didn't need to eat during the holidays, and by bingeing on the chocolate, she had pretty much quashed her right to choose on the matter, she realised.  
  
// Carrots and celery sticks it is, then. // She thought dryly, as she crept into her bed. It was warm and familiar, unlike the strange coolness of Snape's sheets. She closed her eyes, and found herself there again, within his reach. The sensations were real, and the shadow memories of every touch echoed in her mind. "Stop it!" she moaned, snapping her eyes open.  
  
Resolutely, she searched through her medicine cupboard, eventually finding the small round bottle that contained the liquid that she desired. A dreamless sleep potion.  
  
Clambering back into her own bed again, she gulped it down in one swift movement, and placed the crystal bottle on her bedside table. Almost instantly, sleep overcame her, and she slumped back into her pillows, free at last, from her own mind. ~*~*~*~  
  
Alone in his bed, Severus Snape heard his chamber doors slam shut. She had left. The little whore thought that she could sleep with him and simply sneak off without a word? He would have to see to that.  
  
He was confident that they would meet again. Every week, Thursday and Saturday, she had been in The Three Broomsticks, and somehow, he didn't think that she would change this routine. Sitting up, he wrapped the silken black sheets closer around him. He combed long fingers through his hair, and closed his eyes as he tried to focus on the white light behind his eyelids.  
  
What the hell had just happened, anyway? // Pull yourself together, Severus! // he thought, feeling a little dizzy. It had been out of character for him to react to that woman in such a way, and even more so for him to allow it to go so far. He sighed. He stepped out of the bed, and headed towards the bathroom. A quick shower, and he emerged, dressed in fresh black robes. He scanned the room, seeing the disorder of the sheets, and with a wave of his wand, restored them to their proper state.  
  
Quickly glancing at his pocket-watch, he swept out of the room.  
  
The Great Hall was bustling with all the usual faces, as they crowded in to eat dinner. He headed towards the staff table, finding himself beside Professor Sprout. A swift nod, and he was relieved to know that the supposed "pleasantries" would be over for tonight.  
  
The children continued to chatter incessantly, and he looked on, watching the hubbub as they continued to file in. The noise was soothing. It distracted his thoughts, as he surveyed the groups of talking students. On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy and his cronies were talking with Pansy Parkinson, and Blaise Zabini, and although the two girls failed to notice, Draco kept glancing slyly at the two boys on either side of him. The two laughed dumbly, probably unaware of what they were meant to be laughing at.  
  
On the other extreme of the hall, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were whispering to each other.  
  
// What sort of escapade would they be planning this time? What new bout of rule breaking would the school be subjected to at their hands? // He glanced down the table, but there was no sign of the third wheel. The Granger-girl would probably be in the library, suffering from pre-exam nerves - a whole five months early. Granger. On an academic level, he supposed that he held a high esteem for Granger, knowing her capabilities to surpass every other student in the school. Had she been in Slytherin, her abilities in the finer arts could have been more greatly refined and nurtured. Had Harry Potter been in Slytherin, Hogwarts would be a different place, he mused, he might have been a different man.  
  
He stared at the boy, wondering if a single person could so drastically change another's personality. After a moment, Harry glanced towards the High Table, frowning, and reaching towards his scar. He sneered. It wasn't the first time that that had happened, in fact, after Voldemort's initial increase of power, not a single Potions lesson had passed when the boy had not reached up to his scar. The food appeared on the serving dishes before them, and Snape's mouth curled in distaste. Spaghetti.  
  
Every dish was piled high with spaghetti and meatballs, spaghetti with carbonara sauce, with creamy asparagus sauce. Who could possibly like spaghetti this much?! Light twinkling laughter was heard, and he looked across to his left. Dumbledore. He should have known. Serving himself some meatballs, he set himself the task of rearranging his food until it would be considered proper to leave. Until then, he allowed his thoughts to stray. Unsurprisingly, they led straight to her. Heather Gates, she called herself, but who was she? He had awoken long before she had, and had considered the Veritaserum. He had even come halfway to moving the arm that was draped across his chest, before he had decided against it. // Whatever will come from this will come. // he thought gravely. // I am not one to say what the future will hold. // After thirty minutes, he excused himself from the Great Hall, and retreated to his own quarters.  
  
The house-elves had cleaned the room out, wiping away every trace of her presence. Her scent had been magicked away by the domestic elves, leaving Severus' strangely vivid memories somewhat out-of-place.  
  
Undressing, he returned to his bed, choosing to ignore the drifting dreams that plagued him. 


	8. Fairytales of Yesterday

Chpt8: Fairytales of Yesterday (will grow but never die).  
  
The return of morning brought with it the harsh gift of awakening.  
  
Hermione found herself abruptly lunging from her blissful, unconscious haven, into cold reality.  
  
It was a sunny morning, full of melodic birds' calls, and soft breezes.  
  
After blinking her eyes dumbly for a few moments, she turned towards the window, wondering if the cliché had been put there just to spite her.  
  
"Oh, bugger off!" she muttered, turning over, and covering her head with the pillow. "I hate the stupid sun!" She slowly dragged herself out of bed, and sat on the floor, leaning back on its heavy wooden frame. // Okay, // she thought, // Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Find the pattern. keep breathing. // she lulled her mind into the simple routine of inhale and exhale, until all that was left was the steady rise and fall of her chest. Inhale.  
  
// See, you're fine. // Exhale. // Just another perfectly ordinary Sunday morning. // Inhale. // Harry and Ron will be up in a couple of hours, begging you to go to visit Hagrid with them. // Exhale. // There is absolutely nothing unusual about today. //  
  
Hermione rested her head on the edge of the bed, and tried to keep the pattern, ignoring all the little doubts that tried to break into her concentration. // Everything is exactly as it should be. // Keeping closed eyes, and a steady breath, she slowly rose to her feet, and stood still for a while.  
  
## He's not so bad, you know. ## The little voices insisted, as she continued the regime. ## If he were, then you wouldn't have done it. ## Inhale. // Perfectly normal day. // Hermione opened her eyes, and pulled her night-dress over her arms, purposefully ignoring her reflection in the full-length mirror across from her.  
  
"Accio jeans." She muttered, and held her hand out expectantly. As soon as the material touched her hand, she shoved her legs through, and pulled them up. Next, a dark blue polo-neck, its slightly longer-than-average fit, and hip-hugging tendencies creating the illusion of height, as well as seemingly narrowing her waist. Her mother had convinced her to buy one in every colour, saying that she'd be attracting boys like a magnet with them.  
  
She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes at the memory. //Whatever//. The words "Hermione" and "boys" were rarely found together in the same sentence unless it referred to Harry and Ron (who couldn't exactly be considered as ideal boyfriend material), or with the words "often tutors" in between.  
  
She really couldn't understand what Snape had seen in her.  
  
Snape.  
  
When it came to him, she really didn't know what to think. For a start, what had she seen in him? And what on earth had possessed her to make her. had she seduced him, or had it been the other way around?  
  
She combed her fingers through her long hair, and went into the bathroom. Snape.  
  
// Argh! Get out my friggin' head! //  
  
Quickly applying a few light coats of clear mascara and lip-gloss, she steeled herself against whatever lay ahead, and marched out of the dormitory. "Hi, Hermione! Are you feeling better yet?" She hadn't even had a chance to register who was in the common room before she had been bombarded from all sides. "Hi guys, I'm fine. What are you doing up so early?"  
  
Apart from them, there were hardly any people there - a few first years, huddled around the fireplace, talking about the Quidditch tryouts for next year's team, and some third year girls giggling in the corner as they read a magazine. "Harry's heading out for Quidditch practice, and I said I'd watch. we were just going up to see if you were going to come too."  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Harry, who simply shrugged. Ever since Gryffindor had lost a game to Slytherin in their fifth year, Ron had insisted on helping Harry to train. "There was no getting rid of him!" he mouthed at her, as Ron nattered on, oblivious. She smiled. "No, thanks, Ron, I was heading out to the library." She said automatically.  
  
"The library?" Ron questioned, "I'm sure it won't mind if you don't go for once in your life. it'll still be there tomorrow!"  
  
Harry was pretending to bang his head against the wall behind Ron, and Hermione quickly said, "The library really isn't so bad, Ron, maybe you should come along. I'm sure Harry will be able to manage for today." At this, Harry waved his hands in the air, as she did her best to keep a straight face. Ron looked insulted. "Hermione! Harry's Quidditch practice should not be taken lightly!"  
  
Harry groaned, and Ron turned around. "You ok?" His expression quickly changed into a smile. "Yeah, Ron, I'm great." Ron narrowed his eyes. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that you didn't want me to go with you." He paused, and for a moment, the others held their breath, hoping that he wouldn't get angry. "Oh well." He turned back to Hermione. "If you're sure you aren't coming, then we really should get going. Harry needs to work on his Plumpton Pass." Hermione looked at Harry again. "I thought you'd have mastered that one after your first year." Harry shrugged. Ron tutted, as though Hermione really should know better. "Just because he can catch the snitch in his mouth does not mean that he can catch it in his sleeve. Why are you two laughing?!" "Aw, c'mon, Ron, you're trying to train me to catch the snitch up my sleeve. It's not exactly rocket science is it?" Ron looked confused. "Don't worry." Hermione said, "It's a Muggle thing. The point is, well, it's not very. erm. complex." He turned to Harry, outraged. "Tactical playing, Harry! Tactical playing! It's the only way to beat those filthy Slytherin scum!" Harry had obviously given up. "Yes, Ron, you've said. Come on then. Quidditch practice it is."  
  
Hermione looked on, as the two boys exited through the portrait hole, and could clearly hear Ron begin to give Harry advice. "I've noticed that your broom tilts forwards quite a lot, Harry, try to lean back a bit when you're flying so." Hermione smiled. Not everyone could claim to have friends like these. Sitting down in one of the plump chairs, she thought for a moment. She hadn't thought about Snape for a whole ten minutes. Wow. That must be a record. Not knowing how to deal with a situation was something that Hermione wasn't used to. But then, she wasn't used to doing things on impulse either. Things were changing. Godammit, she wan't used to change either! She didn't like change. it made things so unreliable and uncertain -  
  
"Hermione?" It was Ginny. "Are you okay?"  
  
Ginny Weasley. Naïve little Ginny Weasley was standing there, next to her, with worry written all over her face. Hermione nodded. "Sure, Ginny, I'm fine." The girl stood in silence, before moving away to pull another chair up next to hers. "You sure don't sound it." Her voice was soft and low, and although Hermione didn't want it, the emotions of last night began to flood over her again. She looked up. "How long have you been there?" Ginny shrugged. "I came down a bit before Harry and Ron did.. I was here last night as well." "Oh?" She was giving Hermione one of those knowing looks that you'd expect from a teacher. "You might be able to brush this off as being 'tired', or 'that time of the month again' to the boys, but I'm not stupid. There's something wrong, and I'm not going to let you wallow in it."  
  
Hermione laughed. Hollow and uncontrollable, she couldn't stop until it was replaced by the heavy sobs.  
  
"It's okay, I want to help you." She heard Ginny saying, pulling her into a tight hug as the cries receded. "I don't know what to do!" she said, "I've been so stupid, and now I don't know how to fix it!"  
  
"Here." She was handed a handkerchief, and replied with a weak smile. "Thanks." Eventually, she sat back, and stared blankly at the floor, before glancing up at the redhead in front of her.  
  
"I can't tell you, Ginny. I- I think I need to figure this out on my own." Ginny nodded. "Okay, but I'm right here, you know, in case you ever-" "Yeah, thanks." Hermione stood up. "Well, I'm going to the library. I've got a 4 foot essay to write for History of Magic." "'kay. I guess I'll see you around then." "Yeah. I'll see you around." As she climbed out of the portrait hole, Hermione wondered if she should feel guilty for lying to Ginny, after all, she didn't often lie to anyone at all, never mind her friends. The hallways were empty, as the most of school basked in their weekly Sunday-morning lie in. If she hadn't finished that essay two days ago, she might actually need to finish it, she conceded. It wasn't as if she owed Ginny any sort of explanation.. Footsteps: Swift and clear, steadily getting closer.  
  
Hermione would recognise that sound from a million miles away - the Potions Master was out on the prowl. // Shit! // Her mind was screaming at her, as she desperately looked around for an escape route before it was . too late.  
  
"Ah. Miss Granger." He sneered. "Not helping Potter with his Quidditch practice?" Harry's name sounded like acid on his tongue, as he viciously spat it out.  
  
Hermione edged away from him, and shook her head. "No- No sir."  
  
Her saw her move, and smirked. "Don't worry, I don't bite."  
  
"Yes sir, I just, erm, I was going to the library sir." "Of course! The library. Where else." He looked on as she backed herself into the wall, and seemed to freeze, before searching for a way around him. It seemed to him that the Granger- girl had finally lost it. He stepped forwards. "If I didn't know better, I would think that you were up to something." He smirked again, before adding a sarcastic "Good day", and sweeping down the corridor. Hermione was frozen to the wall, watching him disappear around the corner, before she was finally able to kick her brain into action, and run towards the library.  
  
## If I didn't know better, I would think that you were up to something. ## 


	9. Innuendo

Chpt9: Innuendo.  
  
At the library doors, Hermione stopped running. She seemed to be making a habit of running out of Snape's presence like a lunatic, and broadcasting this to whomever happened to be inside would not be an ideal place to start. Taking two deep breaths, she pushed the doors open, and stepped through. The familiar smell of old books was the first thing that she noticed, and as she made her way towards her usual table at the back, and their scent lulled her into that familiar, secure embrace.  
  
She didn't want to think about it. It. It wasn't the act itself that bothered her. Okay, It was the act, to some extent. but the fact that Snape was involved in the equation is what made her want to hide her head in the ground. She looked around her. The library was almost empty, except for herself, a few Hufflepuffs and Madam Pince. She pulled a book out of her bag for appearance's sake, and began her frantic search for logic. Firstly, Snape obviously didn't know it was her. for which she was greatly relieved.  
  
She would have to ensure that he never find out. Never. As for her weekly visits to Hogsmeade. she really didn't want to give them up, and, she mused, she would simply have to try to avoid Snape. Yes. She would avoid him.  
  
Feeling determined, she pulled out her timetable, and felt her heart sink. Her first lesson tomorrow morning would be double Potions. She had no illusions of trying to skip class, but being brought back down to earth so abruptly was not a nice experience.  
  
Groaning, she shoved the timetable back into her bag, and massaged her temples. Dealing with her issues at school would not be so easy, and she dreaded to think how she would act tomorrow morning, having to listen to him talk about the different variations of sight enhancing potions while all she could think about was how good his hands felt on her. Trying not to relive the memory, she packed her books away, nervously threading her hands through her hair as she promised herself that she would be strong. Life, however, seemed to have other plans in store for Hermione, and on Monday morning, her feet felt as though they were made from lead, as she made her way down to the dungeons.  
  
Sitting in her usual seat next to Neville, which was uncomfortably close to the front, Hermione pulled out her various books, quills, and enough sheets of parchment to write a short book with, and proceeded to arrange and rearrange them on her desk until Snape entered the room.  
  
As soon as the cloud of dark clothing appeared in the doorway, she froze. "I hope that you have all completed the research essay that was required for today's lesson." He began, striding into the room. "Has anyone failed to do so?" Silence.  
  
"Good. When I call your name, you will come up, and hand me the completed assignment." The look of horror on Neville's face was reflected on her own, as she imagined herself tripping, slipping or simply falling as she walked towards his desk, concentrating on not blushing. Snape called her name, and held his hand out expectantly, his long, long fingers bending slightly as he reached for the scroll that she held out to him. The room seemed to spin and go dark, and she felt soft silk under her skin, warm lips, slithering down her neck, seeking out her racing pulse-point.  
  
"Oh, God." she muttered, feeling faint. "Miss Granger, are you feeling quite capable of achieving the demands of this class today?" Her vision snapped back into focus, and she found herself standing in the middle of the classroom, still holding the edge of the scroll. "Huh.? I mean. Yes sir." Snape eyed her strangely, before saying, "Would you be so kind, then, as to let go of your assignment, and return to your seat.. now." She stepped away, failing horribly at preventing the burning sensation that was creeping up the sides of her face, and trying to ignore the look that Snape was aiming in her direction; a look that seemed to say something along the lines of "I think the Hatter's lost his Hat". She cringed. It was not going to be an easy lesson. As soon as the order had been given for the class to begin their practical, Hermione felt someone insistently poking her back.  
  
//Ron// she knew, // probably wanting to know if I was okay, and to tell me to ignore "that greasy git".// She turned around quickly, and mouthed "I'm fine", before returning to her work, not even waiting for him to react. The last thing that she wanted this lesson was to get in trouble for talking. Dealing with Neville, however, was a different matter, but she found the strength of will to leave him, mostly, to his own devices, and only helping him frequently enough that his cauldron didn't explode. or melt. or vanish. . At the end of the lesson, Snape approached her desk, and said to the class,  
  
"Normally, I would ask for Mr Longbottom here to test his potion for us." He paused dramatically. "Today, however, I think that Miss Granger will be allowed that privilege." He sneered.  
  
"Mr Malfoy," Draco looked up eagerly, "Would you please remind the class what the desired effect of this potion is."  
  
Standing up proudly, Draco smoothed his hair back, and began to speak. "Today's potion is a familiar of the sight-enhancing group. When it is consumed, it acts as a visual Veritaserum, allowing the viewers to see the person's true face from their own points of view. No two people will see the same thing, as each person's own experiences and feelings will alter the truth that is shown to them."  
  
"Very good, Mr Malfoy."  
  
Hermione had never felt worse. The "Visual Veritaserum", as it were, would most certainly reveal to Snape her hidden identity as Heather Gates, and there would be no question as to whether what he saw was true or not. // Exhale. // she thought, trying to urge her body to coherent thought.  
  
// Exhale, Goddammit! // ~*~*~*~ She awoke to the scent of various bitter herbs, and opened her eyes to see Madam Pomfrey smiling over her. "Professor Snape must have given you quite a scare, Miss Granger, he wasn't trying to poison you, was he?" Her eyes were dancing, as she laughed softly. Hermione coughed. "The potion- ?"  
  
"I'm afraid that whatever he was trying to force into you didn't quite make it. What was it?" "A sight enhancer. the veracious type." "Oh dear!" she laughed, "I guess you kept your secret then!"  
  
Hermione stopped. "What secret?" The Mediwitch smiled. "The one that you were trying to hide when you hyperventilated. You must have been really worried that someone would find out, dear, you were out for ten minutes before they brought you up here!" "Thank God." Hermione let out a relieved sigh, and Madam Pomfrey smiled again. "Don't worry, I won't ask." She winked. 


	10. Miserere Mei

Chpt10: Miserere Mei.  
  
As Hermione stepped out of Honeydukes into Hogsmeade, she sighed at the sight of the thick blanket of snow that covered the entire town.  
  
// Winter must indeed be the most beautiful of the seasons. // She mused, slipping her hands into a pair of soft black gloves. The town's many inhabitants huddled to and fro, wrapped warmly in their winter cloaks. Hermione even spotted the occasional pair of fluffy earmuffs as she made her way through the throng towards The Three Broomsticks. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the chatter of red-nosed wizards and witches trying to escape the cold, and doing a quick sweep of the tavern, Hermione noted the lack of a certain Potions Master's presence with great relief. She approached the bar.  
  
"Hello dear!" the sparkling form of Madam Rosmerta's cheery face stood out against the dark background, and Hermione smiled, noticing the wreaths of holly and mistletoe that she had begun to hang around the bar in time for the festivities. Asking for a butterbeer "to go", she waited expectantly, before paying, and hurrying towards the door.  
  
// The chances of meeting Snape in here are greater than those of bumping into him on the street. // She thought, worrying about only how to keep as much distance between him and herself. The air outside was bitingly cold after the warmth of The Three Broomsticks, and she sipped eagerly at the flask that she held in her hands. Glancing up the road, she wondered where to go. All the usual options were there. She could go to the bookshop, the Quidditch store, Zonko's.. The same places that she always ended up going to when she came to Hogsmeade. Where would she go now that Harry and Ron weren't here to drag her in to stare at the latest racing broom? Unsure, she began to walk towards the south end of the road.  
  
There, she found a small building, and as she approached it, she easily identified it as being of early Gothic architecture.  
  
"The best period for design, if you ask me." She commented, to no one in particular.  
  
"It is often said that talking to yourself is one of the first signs of madness."  
  
Hermione spun around, succeeding in spilling all of what remained of her butterbeer onto the speaker's robes.  
  
The speaker, naturally, was Snape, who, noting the mess that Hermione had unwittingly deposited on his clothes, pulled out his wand, and magicked it away. Unable to react, Hermione continued to stand before him, gaping and unmoving.  
  
"But then, sanity is most immensely over-rated, wouldn't you think?"  
  
Still, Hermione did not respond, causing Snape to frown, replacing the rather amused look that she had seen in his eyes, even as his face had been devoid of expression.  
  
"For goodness sakes, girl, close your mouth, the effect you're giving at the moment is extremely unappealing."  
  
Instantly, Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and she took a faltering step backwards. He raised an eyebrow, the amused look back in place. "And then there was life." He smirked, quoting some Muggle or another.  
  
Trying to gain some sort of control, Hermione tried her best "can I help you.?" approach, and raising her head determinedly, and trying not to pout, she spoke.  
  
"Hello."  
  
// Okay, that wasn't exactly original or scathingly aloof, // she mused, // but it was a start. // Snape feigned shock. "And you can talk too..! The wonders never cease to astound me."  
  
"Maybe some day I'll actually even get you to smile again, then." Hermione retorted, her hands flying to her mouth as soon as the words had been spoken. // Oh my god, did I just say that?! // Her mind screamed, as she realised what she had just implied. Not only had she just said that she would like the chance to make him smile, but she had also suggested that she had the intention of spending enough time with him to be able to do so. Not the sort of thing that you just go and tell someone that you're meant to be avoiding. "I like to keep those to a bare minimum." He quipped, before adding, "Unfortunately, I have succeeded in finding myself way over the limit, so I'm not due another smile until some time next year, I should think."  
  
This time, it was Hermione's turn to frown. "I think I should pity you."  
  
"You mean, you don't already?"  
  
Hermione thought for a moment. "No. I don't . That doesn't mean that I shouldn't though."  
  
"And what has brought you to this astonishing conclusion, may I ask?"  
  
"You may. if you tell me why you feel the need to govern how many smiles you allow yourself per month. per year. per century, even, I should expect."  
  
Snape tilted his head. "An amusing tactic, Miss Gates. I must admit, you are intriguing."  
  
Hermione smiled slightly. "Thank-you. I think." Of all the people in the world, she had never thought that she would reach an understanding with Snape. She glanced back towards the building, and remembered that she had planned on avoiding him.  
  
"Did you want to ask me something?" she questioned, trying not to think about the many answers that he could give. "I believe we have a few unfinished issues." He looked at her pointedly, and she tried not to blush, knowing what these "issues" happened to be.  
  
"Oh." She said simply.  
  
""Oh" indeed."  
  
"I guess there's no chance of me being able to get rid of you then, is there?" she remarked in a sudden bout of daring.  
  
His eyes seemed appreciative of the comment, and he simply replied, "I'm afraid not." Glancing back towards the old building, she took a deep breath. "Perhaps you would care to suggest a more. appropriate location, then?"  
  
"Perhaps." He paused. "Is there anywhere in particular that you would like to go?"  
  
Thinking for a moment, Hermione reviewed all of her knowledge of Hogsmeade and the surrounding lands.  
  
"I really don't know." The obvious thing would be to suggest that they go to a neutral place, but she didn't happen to know of any that wouldn't be crowded with freezing townspeople. Would he be uncomfortable if. would she be uncomfortable.?  
  
Bugger it, you only live once.  
  
"Maybe your place would be easiest." She muttered, barely audibly. "Indeed." Snape turned around, and began to walk, clearly expecting her to follow. 


	11. Through the Secret Passageway

Chpt11: Through the Secret Passageway.  
  
The journey into the further parts of Hogsmeade was a short one, and soon, Hermione found herself standing behind Snape as he muttered "The bane of mankind" at the wall of a deserted alley, causing it to transform into the passageway that would lead them into Hogwarts.  
  
Inside, the Duke and Duchess at the entrance looked up from their conversation.  
  
"Oh, hello there!" the Duke smiled, spotting Hermione. "Feeling better?"  
  
Not knowing what to say, Hermione merely blushed, and mumbled a quiet "Yes, thank-you", before following Snape down the path.  
  
"What is this place?" she asked him, eagerly inspecting the many statues and paintings that watched them continue towards Snape's apartment. He replied with a look that clearly said "Don't ask questions", and a curt "Ignore them, they are merely ornaments." Taking the hint, Hermione nodded, and followed in silence. When they approached the two gargoyles, Snape swept to a stop, and said "La vie est mort."  
  
Obviously, he had not changed the password since her last visit. Pushing the door, he held it open for her, a grim parody of etiquette. Uncertain, Hermione took a step forward, and looked back at him questioningly. He was impassive, and she stepped into the room. As soon as she was inside, he followed, closing the door, and slamming her into it. Gripping her throat tightly, he lowered his voice to a deadly tone that seemed to freeze her blood. "Now listen to me," he growled, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, or who you think you are pretending to be, but I tell you this, a man such myself does not take kindly to being messed around with."  
  
Hermione squirmed against the wood, clawing desperately at his hand as she tried to release his grip. "I can't breathe!" she gasped, feeling his fist tighten.  
  
"Then don't!" he shouted at her, his face twisted with fury. For a moment there was silence, before he released her and turned away.  
  
Hermione sank to the floor, massaging her throat as she gasped to fill her lungs with air. After a while, she looked up, trying to locate the masses of black cloth that were Snape.  
  
"I'm sorry." she implored, her bottom lip trembling. "I-I." He turned around to face her from the shadows, daring her to continue.  
  
How do you explain to a person that you have spent half your life loathing with a sort of grudging respect, that every time you see them - no matter at what distance - you feel a dangerous spark of attraction flare within yourself? How do you explain the sensation of losing control to something that you didn't know you had within you? "I was scared." She began, kicking herself mentally as her voice broke, and she buried her head in her hands. Over the past week, she had promised herself that she wouldn't cry, that she wouldn't acknowledge it, but now, in front of Snape, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally reciting phrases from Muggle films didn't seem to work.  
  
She felt, rather than heard, his approach, and hastily wiping her eyes, she looked up. "You're not going to hex me, are you?" she asked weakly, and he looked down at her sympathetically.  
  
Kneeling down on the floor beside her, Snape stared at her for a long moment.  
  
"It is I who must apologise." He took a deep breath. "I am far too brusque."  
  
Hermione could not repress a laugh. "I shouldn't expect any less. You are, after all, Professor Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, are you not?" His mouth seemed to twist amusedly. "I am." A slight nod. "You're not so bad, though." Hermione said thoughtfully, earning a sincere look of surprise.  
  
"I find that hard to believe, after I have almost succeeded in strangling to death you no more than ten minutes beforehand." Like Hermione, Snape had grown accustomed to having total control over his own being. Many years in the service of the Dark Lord had taught him to sustain his own feelings and thoughts, and following his return to the light, he had never felt that he would ever deserve to indulge his own pathetic wants or desires. Seeming to read his thoughts, Hermione said, "Everyone has a right to freak out every now and then.it's perfectly natural."  
  
He eyed her wryly. "And when you.er.'freak out', do you attack the people around you?" Hermione smiled. "You wouldn't believe the number of times that I've bitten Harry and R-" she backtracked, "Harry and Rachel's heads off for some totally stupid reason."  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione tried to cover up for her error.  
  
"Harriet is a co-worker," she told him, secretly impressed at how easily she was making amends, "and Rachel Taylor is a friend." If Snape was suspicious, he didn't show it, as he simply nodded, and stood, taking her hand to pull her to her feet.  
  
"Do you read, Miss Gates?" he inquired abruptly as she stood.  
  
A huge smile spread itself across Hermione's face. "Do I ever!" "Perhaps you would be interested in one of my latest additions."  
  
He guided her towards the side of the room where he had stood earlier, and guided her through a narrow door. Every wall was covered in book-filled shelves from the floor to the ceiling.  
  
"Wow!" she gasped, her heart racing at the sight.  
  
"Quite a splendid collection, wouldn't you agree?" He looked across at her, somewhat pompously, and waved her towards the central shelf.  
  
Tentatively stepping forward, Hermione reached out towards the book that he had indicated, and pulled it out. "Mastering the Analysis of Hybrid Pursuits," she read aloud, glancing at him questioningly. "You mentioned that you were composing a study about differences between Wizard and Muggle behavioural patterns.I thought that this could come in useful to you."  
  
Hermione smiled at the unexpected act of kindness from Snape, and thanked him, unable to suppress her grin. Directing her back towards the main room, Snape invited her to sit down as he poured her a glass of some liquor or another.  
  
Looking around, Hermione located the only source of light in the room - the large hearth that flared and flickered, casting eerie shadows onto their faces. Remembering the enchanted ceiling, she glanced upwards. The sky was foggy and foreboding, although, thankfully, there was no sign of rain.  
  
Snape returned, and offered her one of the glasses, whilst accommodating himself across from her with his own. They were silent for a moment, and Hermione sipped at her drink, its strong flavour burning the back of her throat as she gulped it down.  
  
"So," she began, wondering how to lighten the mood, "Do you come here often?" Snape's expression remained impassive as he replied, "As a matter of fact, I live here." Feigning surprise, she continued. "Really?!"  
  
Finally, his lips began to quirk, and he nodded. "Indeed, I do." He raised an eyebrow. "You?" "Oh, I'm just passing.but I simply had to visit this positively delightful little space!" "Fascinating, isn't it?" Hermione stood up, and walked towards the fireplace, jokingly swiping a finger over the mantelpiece and sniffing it. "There's not much that can be said about the cleaning though." Returning, she stopped behind Snape's chair, and squeezed his shoulders. "And you," she cooed, "the honourable host, how on earth do you do it?!" Snape tilted his head slightly to see her, and quickly replied "With a few well placed anti-ageing charms and a clone of myself to do all the work." Hermione paused, leaning over him to see his face. "Really?" "Of course not!" he laughed, sending chills down her spine. "Well, I think you do a good job, none the less." Once again, she kneaded at his shoulders, muttering something about how tense he was. "Alertness is imperative when you have a history like mine."  
  
She pushed away his hair, working at his neck, and getting a perverse thrill out of the warmth of his skin. "Now, now," she teased, "you don't want to be labelled a nut-case like Alastor Moody just because you can't tell the difference between being alert and being paranoid." "Much as I hate to admit it, your logic is impeccable." Weaving her hands through his hair, Hermione continued to gently rub into his skin, moving forwards, across to his throat, sweeping cautiously over his chest, and back around to his shoulders. Seemingly oblivious to their jesting, the room had turned very serious. In truth, Hermione had spent the week refusing to acknowledge the number of times that she had replayed the whole of that night's events, and now, refusing to think of the consequences, she had quite literally taken things into her own hands. Stroking a finger down his cheek, she stepped around the chair, and sat on his lap, staring straight into his beetle black eyes.  
  
"If you knew who I was," she whispered, tracing a light circle around his clavicle, "Do you think that you would care?" Snape reached down to his left arm, and pulled up his sleeve. "You don't have one of these. that's justification enough for me." Hermione stroked her lips over the mark, a mimic of the first night, and looked back at him. "Promise that you won't ask." He nodded, and she leaned forward to plant a hungry kiss on his lips. 


	12. Ritual Fire Dance

Chpt12: Ritual Fire Dance / El Amor Brujo.  
  
Engulfed by the familiarity of Hermione's lips, Severus pulled her close. After a lifetime of being alone, he had never expected to find a woman that would willingly approach him once, never mind twice, and being faced with such comfortable acquaintance was unnerving. Hermione shifted and pulled away, her breathing heavy as she brushed her hair aside to regard him. Her brows were furrowed deeply, her lips pouting, as she stared deeply into his eyes. "You're not so bad close up, you know." She stated matter-of-factly, reaching up to tug his hair. "And this," she wound it around her fingers, pulling it taut and inspecting it with close scrutiny, "is far cleaner than I would ever have imagined!" Grinning mischievously, she stifled a giggle, leaned up to kiss his forehead, and trailed her lips over the bridge of his nose down to his mouth. He snorted, "I'm not sure whether I should be glad that I am appreciated, or dejected because the expectancy for my appearance is so low that a closer inspection manages to exceed them." She pouted again, pretending to look scornful. "Tut tut, I hope that you aren't putting yourself down, Professor Snape." She smiled, and leaned in again, tracing her mouth over his ever so lightly, whilst continuing to teasingly pull on his hair. "Sorry." His words were muffled and lost beneath her lips, "Old habits die hard." Hermione was basking in the strange thrill of doing something that you shouldn't, but knowing that she was in control. She smiled again, and stood up, glancing around the darkened room. "I could probably have guessed that your rooms would be something like this." She approached one of the doorways and peered through, squealing with delight at what she saw. "A familiar!" She looked back at him. "You're full of surprises!" Standing up, Snape went into the room, and came out with a large hairy bird with feathers so black that they seemed to shimmer purple in the light. "This is Wystetia," he said, holding the huge bird up, "She's a Fwooper." Hermione gasped, reaching up to tentatively stroke the silken black plumes. "A black Fwooper. You must be very rare indeed, Wystetia." She cooed, and the bird turned to look at her, unimpressed. He smirked in reply. "Extremely rare. One of a kind, in fact." As though understanding every word, Wystetia decided at that very moment to stick out her beak and ruffle her midnight feathers.  
  
Hermione laughed, and Snape allowed himself a small chuckle, scratching softly at the ridge under her beak. "She has quite a unique personality as well."  
  
Lowering her voice, she looked at him and said, "She's not the only one." Snape quirked an eyebrow, and Hermione smiled, stretching out her hand to Wystetia's feathers again. The bird flexed its claws around Snape's arm, and let out a single high note, which rang sweetly around the room. Hermione pulled back. "Aren't Fwoopers meant to be under silencing charms.? I thought their song was meant to cause insanity." "Wystetia is very well trained. She hardly ever sings at all." He walked towards the armchair, and the bird jumped onto the back, pacing for a few moments, before tucking its head under its wings, and converting into a ball of black feathers. Hermione laughed slightly, and approached Snape, wrapping her arms around his waist, and staring at him in silence. "You're strange, you know that? I can't decide whether I want to figure you out, or whether I like your mysterious aura." Snape tilted his head. "And what makes you think that I would be prepared to let you figure me out?" "Because I already know more about you than would care to think." She smiled, and reached up to pull his head down to her own. Trying to be more confident than she felt, she nibbled softly on his bottom lip, and opened her mouth to him stretching up against him as she undid the fist few buttons on his collar. She felt him hesitate as he sensed her movements, but she reassured him, and herself, by languorously moving her hand down the length of his back, before finally allowing it to rest at the base of his spine. He shuddered, and pushed her robes off her shoulders, deepening the kiss The air was cool on her skin, and she shivered, unconsciously pressing against him in her search for warmth. Snape groaned and shifted, urging to establish more contact between them, clawing at the buttons at her neckline. He muttered something and pulled away, waving his wand before Hermione had even voiced her complaint, and dissolving their clothes. Voicing her delight, she did not hesitate to grab his shoulders and pull him down into her reach. His arousal was now firmly pressed into her stomach, and she rotated her hips against him, finding that her entire body seemed to have turned to lead from the weight of her desire. She took a step back, pulling him with her, and was met by the icy sensation of cold stone. Sandwiched between hot and cold, she arched into Snape, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pressed her towards the stone. // Sex against the dungeon wall.// Hermione mused, //who would ever have thought it! // Snape entered her, drawing sighs of contentment from both of their bodies as they became one, a writhing mass of thrusting and arching that tore through the silence. They turned, and sank to the floor, Hermione, wrapping her legs around him again as she pulled him closer, deeper, higher into the sky.  
  
Professor McGonagall had once described the transfiguration of self into animal as simply "being" that animal, and right now, Hermione understood. At that moment, she was a dove, soaring through the sky, breaking through the clouds and flying on towards the sun. She arched again, groaning and thrashing into him, leaving deep grooves in his back, and searching out his mouth. "Heather." he muttered against her, his voice vibrating through her lips. "Wha-" she stopped. Heather. Of course. That's who she was: Heather Gates, a twenty-three year old woman doing a study on Wizard/Muggle behaviour. She screwed up her face in an attempt not to blurt everything out just so that she could hear him say "Hermione" with that voice, and settled for moaning out his own name as "Heather" continued to resound against the walls. ~*~*~*~ The fog had lifted. Above her, Hermione had been watching the swirling clouds of thick grey smog disperse and disappear for the past half an hour. Now, she risked a glance at the head on her shoulder. His eyes were closed, but she knew better than to think that he was asleep. In fact, he had been awake for a full twenty minutes now, but had not deemed to show it. "Severus?" she threaded her hand through his hair and pressed her lips into his forehead. He looked up; the unruly mass of hair looking like he had just been caught in a tornado, and his face looked relaxed. Comfortable, even. "Yes?" He seemed to be totally unperturbed that she appeared to have known that he was awake. Hermione couldn't help but smile. what she wouldn't do to get a picture of him like this! Oh, the fun she could have.! "I need to go." she began, trying to work out an excuse - 'My ageing potion is about to run out' didn't quite seem appropriate. Snape looked at her for a moment, and nodded, smiling as she leaned in to offer him a gentle kiss. "I'm a man of my word, you know." 


	13. Sketches from the Catwalk

Chpt13: Sketches from the Catwalk.  
  
For a second time in less than two weeks, Hermione sat in her room, contemplating the previous night. When she tried to think about it, she didn't know whether she wanted to justify or condemn what had happened. She thought of Snape, and of everything that she had come to know about him. She thought of how gentle he could be, how. dare she say it. kind. Without knowing it, she sighed deeply, a small smile creeping onto her lips. The contrast between the two nights was an extensive one. She lifted herself out of the bed and strayed towards the window. It was a cold night, and the stars hung low in the sky, the moon vanishing behind the occasional wisp of cloud.  
  
"Severus." she breathed into the wind, closing her eyes as she inhaled the night air.  
  
What was it about this man? What was it about him that seemed to make her very being tingle at the thought of him? She had given her virginity to him.  
  
The thought made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, to dance and rejoice that it had been him, and to curse herself for being so stupid as to fall for a teacher. To fall for a teacher. Is that what was happening? She pressed her hand into her gut, and felt the tight knot that had formed there. Hermione Granger was falling for a teacher, and he didn't even know who she was.  
  
Moving away from the window, she glanced at the mirror. The ghostly form of a wispy teenage girl that looked back at her was, surely, not something that Snape would ever be able to even consider being attracted to. Self-mockingly, she stared into her own eyes, and whispered, "Mirror, mirror." she paused, "Is this who I really am?"  
  
The mirror didn't reply. Obviously, what else had she expected? She had cast a silencing charm on that the very first day she had spent in that room, when it had refused to stop telling her what a mess her hair was.  
  
Sighing, she ran a hand through the unruly mass of locks and shook her head. Hermione Granger. Head girl. Prefect. Academic genius. Role model and example to all. Infamous. Where did the words attractive, seductress and sensuous fit into all this? Unsolicited, the hazy tendrils of a verse crept through her mind. ~ If you had two tongues in you mouth, and lost the first one, the mother tongue, and could not really know the other, the foreign tongue. You could not use them both together even if you thought that way. ~ Her two tongues; her two different languages, her two identities. Where did she stand between them? How would her old life adjust to this New World? ~ You could not use them both together . ~ Maybe the first would be lost. Maybe her first tongue would rot. ~ Rot, rot and die in your mouth until you had to spit it out.~ She was already changed. She had already forgotten how it had been before, how she had felt. Surely she could not truly have hated him before. How she acted in Potions class? Was there ever a time when she had not worried about meeting his gaze for fear of blushing? Had there ever been a time when she had not fixed her eyes on the table in front of her, knowing the abandon that the deliberate sweeps of graceful fingers could cause? She sighed. Too much analysis is never healthy. She now felt more confused than ever, and above all, she could feel the steady drumming of a headache coming on. Back in bed, she smoothed the heavy sheets until they were rigidly pressed onto the bed, and sank into the pillows as a dull confusion settled over her mind and her dreams. 


	14. Curtains Up

Chpt14: Curtains Up.  
  
Snape had waited for at least twenty minutes, listening to the steady thump of her heart, as he pondered whether or not she would decide to sneak away undetected, hating herself for being so stupid as to return to him. Strangely enough, she did not, but simply lay there, twisting his hair through her fingers. She had been watching the sky, that much seemed evident. Snape tried to picture her face as she watched the last tendrils of the acrid smog dissolving into wisps of forgotten cloud that drifted across the sky. He had done that many times before, intrigued at the complex patterns that appeared in the sky as the mists disappeared. Maybe he should have made it evident that he had awoken. As he debated whether or not to divulge himself, he felt her weight shift towards him, her thick hair tickling his skin as she spoke. "Severus?" Her voice was soft and cautious, her hands weaving into his hair, her lips planting a modest kiss on his forehead. So, she had known all this time, then. Somehow, he could not bring himself to be surprised. Her omniscience was astounding, if not anticipated. He glanced up, smiling shrewdly. "Yes?" His hair was a mess, yes, he knew that. She, however, had no excuse to find his current state so incredibly amusing. He arched an eyebrow in response, and she began to speak. "Er.I..erm.I need to go." she stammered, before pausing, clearly trying to find a reasonable defence. He saved her the bother, and nodded reassuringly. "I'm a man of my word, you know." The relief that spread over her face was visible for the split second before it had vanished, and he tried to hide his amusement. She smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again. Surely, he thought, if there is a heaven. Unsurprisingly, Snape lost that particular chain of thought. ~*~*~*~ The next day was Friday.  
  
Friday. The only accursed day that would dare to separate Thursday from Saturday. Understandably, when the seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins languorously strolled into the potions classroom as though they didn't have a care in the world, it was his honourable duty as Potions Master to reprimand their indecent behaviour. Following ten minutes of lecturing them on the correct way to enter a Hogwarts classroom, he finally allowed himself to continue with the lesson. "Today," he began, "we will begin to make Polyjuice Potion. I shall expect you to continue to work on this project during the Christmas holidays, as you will all, undoubtedly wish to stay during this Winter break. Those who do not remain will take their cauldrons home and complete the work there." Glancing over the faces of his class, he noted that fear was the most prominent expression. Good. Finnigan, Thomas, Parkinson (as great a dunderhead as could possibly be found in Slytherin house), and.Longbottom. Of course. In his seven years at Hogwarts Longbottom had never managed to even come within close proximity of the dungeons without grimacing and running the other way. Snape glanced to the right, spotting the Granger Know-it-All, her faithful entourage humbly seated behind her, looking reasonably uncomfortable, with a shade of mild confidence that irked him beyond belief. "Potter!" he growled venomously. "What are the properties of a successful Polyjuice potion?" Harry met Snape's glare and calmly began to speak, building the image of that infamous page of five years ago in his mind. "It transforms you into somebody else for an hour."  
  
"And the ingredients involved are." Snape motioned him to continue. Words began to form on the page, methods and directions on a sheet surrounded by drawings of people as they morphed into others. "Lacewing flies," he began, confidently, "leeches, fluxweed, knotgrass." Harry could still hear Hermione reading the list as they huddled inside the toilet cubicle. ".Powdered horn of Bicorn, shredded skin of Boomslang, and a piece of whoever you want to change into." Snape was obviously trying to hide the fact that he was impressed, and looked around the class. "Well? WHY AREN'T ALL YOU WRITING THIS DOWN?!!!" he shouted, his voice resounding against the walls as the class shuffled around, trying to locate their quills. // Of course, // he thought, // After their little escapade during their second year, the Dream Team would know about Polyjuice, wouldn't they? // His glance returning to Hermione and Neville, he sneered. "Mr Longbottom," he began, relishing the fact that the boy was almost whimpering in dismay, "it had been my intention to partner you with Miss Bullstrode for this lesson." He paused. "It has come to my attention, however, that today, even you may be of some use." Neville blanched, his eyes wide, and, still sneering, Snape glanced across at Hermione. "Please insure that Miss Granger does not err in the production of this potion by turning herself into any sort of feral being." Oh, what fun he was having! Eyes still fixed on Hermione, he continued. "Much as it sickens me to say this, by the end of this lesson I hope to see not one, but two Longbottoms at this desk.and not a single cat." He stepped away, before stopping and turning slightly to face Neville again. "Do not, however, have any delusions that your potion will not be tested today, Longbottom." A final sneer, and he withdrew, congratulating himself on a good day's work. 


	15. Hipolito

Chpt15: Hipolito.  
  
// Not any cats indeed! // Perhaps if Hermione had not been concentrating so hard on not running up to him and snogging him senseless, she might have been angry, or even vaguely anxious at the fact that Snape seemed to know exactly what had happened during her second year. Who would have thought that everything could have changed so drastically since then. A dopey grin settling on her face, she began to methodically slice the lacewings, her mind wandering into the world of daisies and fluffy white clouds that had pink elephants in tutus floating in between. This in itself was an unusual occurrence for Hermione, who tended to reprove daydreaming and lack of concentration. Neville gaped at her worriedly as she smiled into the cauldron, wondering what on earth had possessed her to make her so absurdly happy during a potions lesson. He, it seemed, was not the only one. "Hey, Hermione!" Ron was poking her in the back with his ruler again. "Yes?" Maybe she should scold him.Trying to look serious, she gave her best attempt at a glare. "I am trying to concentrate, Ron, stop distracting me!" Ron blushed slightly and leaned forward again. "I didn't know that it was possible to concentrate while you're on Cloud Nine." Oh. Oops. So they had noticed.  
  
"Cloud Nine, Ron? Please, I just love to study." Turning around before he could answer, she scooped up some more of the lacewings and handed them to Neville.  
  
"Here," she muttered, "weigh these." Neville nearly passed out at the thought of Hermione actually entrusting him with such a colossal task.  
  
"Er. Hermione?" He paused; his eyes so wide that they could easily have popped out and rolled across the floor. "Mmmhmm?" she scooped up the ingredients that he was holding half-wittedly in his hands, and happily dropped them into the now simmering cauldron. Surprisingly, it didn't explode. Neville stared up at her, his eyes still bulging, with the new addition of eyebrows that reached beyond his hairline and a jaw that had fallen towards the floor. Hermione continued to hum away as she stirred the pot, not taking any notice, but behind her, Harry and Ron were gaping in shock. "Cor, Neville! It worked!" Harry gasped, leaning forwards to see past Hermione. "Blimey. Who'd've thought it, Neville Longbottom got Polyjuice Potion right!" "Mister Longbottom," the barely audible hiss came from behind them, and the tight knot of Gryffindors quickly spun around - Hermione included. Sneering, Snape continued. "I do suggest that you pick your chin up from the ground." He swept forwards and leaned towards the cauldron, sniffing the porous gas that emanated from it with disdain. Then, taking the thick wooden ladle from Hermione's hand as she tried not to squeal from the touch, he stirred the mixture evenly before glancing at the contents. "For now, the base for this potion is at a." he smirked, "satisfactory level. I will expect the final result to be equally satisfactory or four extremely unpleasant detentions will be handed out."  
  
Watching his expression carefully, only Hermione saw the look of gratification that passed momentarily over his features as the grins that the boys had been trying to conceal at the "compliment" diminished. "Have I made myself crystal clear?" Not waiting for a reply, he began to move away. "Good." 


	16. Tis the Season

Chpt16: 'Tis the Season.  
  
".Yule Ball."  
  
The word rang out through her subconscious, drawing her back to Dumbledore's speech.  
  
Shifting so suddenly from the joys of "Arithmancy Made Simple", her newest book, to the disastrous implications of a Yule Ball was not to be considered a particularly pleasant experience.  
  
"I will expect everyone to take part," he eyed the crowd, his gaze settling fractionally on particular students so that they, and only they, knew that he was referring to them.  
  
He then turned, eyes twinkled away in that irritating manner, and smiled down at his fellow colleagues, "Students and teachers alike."  
  
Up at the High Table, Severus Snape was rearranging his cutlery, refusing to meet the old man's gaze.  
  
~*~*~*~ // That bloody irrational fool of a man! //  
  
He shifted his fork to the left, ignoring that oh so convenient - for Dumbledore - urge that he suddenly had to look up at. One of his many tricks.  
  
// I won't look at you, old man, I won't. You may be able to make me come to this pathetic little Ball, but you can't make me look at you. //  
  
Once again, he moved his desert spoon until he was completely sure that it was exactly parallel to the edge of the table in front of him, forming a perfect 90° angle with the rest of the cutlery at either side of him.  
  
After a while, he lifted the knife up and polished it slightly with the sleeve of his robes, feeling the cold metal, smooth between his fingers.  
  
He'd had a fascination for knives, once upon a time.  
  
He shuddered and put it down; scars don't last very long in the Wizarding world.not the physical ones, anyway.  
  
Glancing up hastily, and avoiding Dumbledore's returning gaze, he scanned the four tables before him.  
  
It was pitiful how the slightest whiff of a school dance could produce such moronic grins on the faces of even the most competent pupils.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
But how mistaken he was.  
  
At Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger had never felt so detached in her life. A Ball.  
  
A Ball with dancing and. dates.  
  
Glancing up to the High Table longingly, she watched as Snape continued to fidget, a sleek silver knife disappearing into his sleeve as an imaginary speck of dust was wiped away.  
  
// Why is life so complicated?! Does it do this just to torment me?! // She knew who she would want as her date.  
  
She knew that the night would be empty if she had to dance with anyone but him.  
  
She knew that if they could sway to the sweet melodies of a waltz or a smooth jazzy number, that all would be right in the world.  
  
She knew that he would be a fantastic dancer, but most of all, she knew that it would never happen.  
  
Shaking her head, she concentrated her mind on moving her gaze up and across towards safe territory; Dumbledore.  
  
"The Ball will take place on Tuesday 24th of December and will continue into Wednesday morning." He paused, a mischievous smile forming on his lips, and Hermione had a feeling that that wasn't the worst of it.  
  
"The theme of this year's ball will be that of a medieval masquerade, and everyone will be expected to dress up and unveil their identities at twelve o'clock exactly."  
  
The undercurrent of mutterings that had begun with his announcement of a Ball peaked at this latest news, and Dumbledore waited until the chatter had subdued, his eyes sparkling more than ever.  
  
"I hope that everyone is able to attend and join in the festivities, but until then, choose your costumes well! Now everyone, eat up!"  
  
With that, the great platters that lined the tables were magically replenished with mounds of food that overflowed onto the sides.  
  
From every corner of the hall, the same words could be heard in the students' excitable undertones; ".Yule Ball."  
  
Eyes wide, she looked across to Harry and Ron. The two boys were whispering to each other, their heads bent in concentration as they blocked the world's ears out. Continuing to watch them, Hermione noticed how occasionally one would raise their head and furtively glance up.  
  
When Harry did it, she mused, he was clearly looking towards the Ravenclaw table.  
  
Cho Chang.  
  
// Some things never change.// she thought, trying not to recall painful memories of the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
Ron however, had only looked up twice, both times to jerk his gaze back towards his feet with lightning speed.  
  
Why?  
  
// God, no. //  
  
Both times, Hermione's inquisitive eyes had been met by his, and a fraction of a second later, he had blushed and looked away.  
  
Hermione didn't want to bear to think of the implications of this. Instead, she stood up, gripping the book tightly, and smiling slightly at the boys as they registered the movement to indicate her impending departure.  
  
Beside her, Ginny Weasley also stood.  
  
"You going back to the common room?"  
  
"Yeah." She nodded, "I'm not very hungry."  
  
Ginny smiled and looked across the table to where Harry and Ron were still muttering to themselves, scheming how to get their dates to say yes.  
  
"Yup," she smiled back at Hermione again, "I guess I lost my appetite too."  
  
In silent understanding, both girls passed out of the Great Hall. 


	17. High up in the Corn Field

Chpt17: High up in the Corn Field.  
  
Hermione felt strangely alone..  
  
Years ago, when she had been young and had gone to a Muggle school, she had been ignored by the other children, who did not even take enough notice of her to bother to make fun of her. Now, however, as she cocooned herself into the corner of her bed, she did not move.  
  
// Is this love? // She thought, twisting her hair in her hands, // Is being alone part of being in love? To be unable to tell anyone. //  
  
She stared at her hands.  
  
It had been four weeks since that first time. Four weeks of uncertainty, of relearning everything that she had once thought was written in stone, unquestionable.  
  
Four weeks of doubt, with not an ounce of logic to help.  
  
Her father had once told her that a world without logic would be like a world without oxygen, she had been five at the time and had not understood, but now, as an adult, she knew. // Oh Severus, if only you knew. //  
  
She sighed.  
  
// But you must never know. //  
  
Repeating it again and again, like a mantra, she tried to reassure herself;  
  
"He must never know, he must never know, he must never know."  
  
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.  
  
// Go away, can't you see I'm brooding? //  
  
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.  
  
"Er. Hermione? Are you in there? It's me, Ginny."  
  
Dragging herself out of bed, Hermione slunk over to the door and opened it.  
  
"Ginny. Hi."  
  
The red-head quickly entered, and settled comfortably herself into one of the soft red armchairs.  
  
"I just don't know what it is I'm meant to do."  
  
Had they already started this conversation, Hermione wondered, smiling as she pulled the plush duvet up to her chin.  
  
"Harry."  
  
"Yes, Harry, who else but Harry?!" Ginny smiled.  
  
"Harry, Harry, Harry. It's like some sort of contagious desease or something, you know? I can't seem to be able to think of anything - anyone - but him."  
  
Hermione laughed. "It's hard, isn't it?"  
  
At this, Ginny looked up. "Who do you want to go with? I mean, it's obvious it's not Ron."  
  
"Really, am I that transparent?" She couldn't help but share a private smile with her younger counterpart.  
  
Ginny stifled a giggle.  
  
"Well. Yes." She blushed at Hermione's look of indignation. "Sorry, but you are! It's funny," she glanced at her hands shyly, "you have too much unwanted attention, and I don't have enough."  
  
"Oh, don't worry Ginny, he will open his eyes one day and realise what and idiot he's been, don't you worry about that. Why, he didn't even notice that I was a girl until our fourth year!"  
  
"Boys."  
  
Hermione grinned, "Who needs them!"  
  
They fell into a comfortable silence, full of things that were understood, even though they had not been said, and after a while, Ginny looked up again.  
  
"Who are you waiting for, then?"  
  
"Me?"  
  
// He must never know, he must never know, he must never know. //  
  
"No one."  
  
"He must be a pretty fantastic no one for you to be so enamoured by him."  
  
"Enamoured?" Hermione laughed. "I'm not enamoured. And what sort of a word is enamoured, anyway?!"  
  
"Oh, you know what I mean, you've had your head in the clouds for weeks now, and during meal times, you keep looking around and blushing!"  
  
"I don't!"  
  
"Yes, you do! You do it when you think that no one is looking. you just don't do it for long enough for me to see who it is!"  
  
"Ooh, thank God!"  
  
Ginny flashed the trademark Weasley grin, and her eyes flashed mischievously.  
  
"Thank God, what?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
That grin again. "Do you want to think about that first?"  
  
Hermione sniffed indignantly and said nothing.  
  
"I'm going to find out what you're up to, Hermione Granger, so you had better watch out, because you got a Weasley on your tail!"  
  
~*~*~*~ "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."  
  
At once the familiar lines of the map began to tendril their way across the page, two distinct dots forming just around the corner from where she stood.  
  
'Severus Snape' and 'Minerva McGonagall'.  
  
// Brilliant. How simply bloody fantastic.// Hermione had been making her way towards the secret passage that lead into Hogsmeade, when who should be found arguing right next to the statue of the one-eyed witch but the two people that she least wanted to see.  
  
"I tell you, Minerva, the boy has overstepped the mark!" she could clearly hear Snape's irritable voice become increasingly louder.  
  
"And what makes you so sure that it is him? I assure you, Severus, that I will take no step against him until you are able to prove to me that Harry Potter has indeed committed any such crime."  
  
"Proof?!" he thundered in return,  
  
("Don't you take that tone with me!")  
  
"What more proof do you need than Potter's constant trouble-making since the first day that he set foot in the castle! Rules broken on a daily basis, embarrassing the school at every chance, associating with werewolves and convicted murderers, attacking a teacher,"  
  
("Oh, so that's what this is about!")  
  
"And most of all," he paused dramatically, "Most of all, the fact remains that his plundering of my stores has become a recurring habit!"  
  
There was silence for a moment, before McGonagall's lowered voice was finally heard.  
  
"Are you quite done?" she asked, and there was no audible reply. She continued, "For the past six and a half years I have handled wave upon wave of accusations concerning not only our most admired pupil, but his friends and companions."  
  
Hermione moved closer, eager to hear their words more clearly.  
  
"Now, I have no doubt that your reasons for suspecting Harry Potter must indeed have some sort of grounding, but I cannot - and will not - openly accuse Potter of anything without reasonable evidence. Now, if you will please tell me which ingredients are missing, I will begin my investigation, but until then, I must be on my way."  
  
Hermione heard the slight rustle of clothes, and feet moving down the corridor.  
  
McGonagall stopped.  
  
"Oh, and Severus, I assume that you will be visiting Hogsmeade this afternoon?"  
  
"Yes, Minerva," he replied coolly, "and I will clearly be in need of replacing some of my stocks."  
  
"Very well." The Professor nodded, and departed.  
  
The hallway went deathly quiet, and Hermione stepped forward towards the statue, only to find the very silent figure of her potions master standing there, perfectly still.  
  
"So, Miss Granger," he sneered down at her, "You finally decided to show yourself."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Obviously, he was still there. This was not good. This was so not good.  
  
"I am not stupid, Miss Granger, so do not presume to speak to me as though I were."  
  
"Professor, I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Inside, she tried to encourage herself, begging herself not to shy away from the angry tone in his voice. // I've seen you naked, // she thought, //I've taken you to the throes of passion. You don't scare me. //  
  
"What I am talking about, is your eavesdropping on the private discussion of two members of staff."  
  
"But sir," she cut in, "I've only just got here." Lying really wasn't her best talent. Snape's mouth curled into a cruel smile at seeing her discomfort, and she followed the movement with her eyes.  
  
Truly, it could be said that he was magnificent.  
  
"I don't want to hear your feeble lies and excuses, Miss Granger; five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your incapability when it comes to the respect owed to the staff."  
  
She opened her mouth, and closed it again, knowing that anything that she might say would simply infuriate him. Knowing that this time there would be no. 'Kissing it better'.  
  
He smirked again, "I will be keeping a close eye on you, so in your position, I would be careful - very careful - of what I do from now on. Are we clear?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes, Professor, I'm sorry."  
  
"Good." He began to walk away, but stopped mid-step and turned around again.  
  
"Oh, and might I add that if I see you hanging around this statue again, I will personally ensure that whatever you and your friends find of interest in it is discovered and rectified."  
  
With that, he left with a very Slytherinesque sweep of his lustrous cloak.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Hi, Severus.  
  
Hello, Sev!  
  
I've been waiting for you, Professor.  
  
Hello, how have you been?"  
  
// No, no, NO!!! GODS! //  
  
Hermione grabbed her hair and tugged at it fiercely. She had been sitting on the step ladder beneath Honeydukes for at least an hour, trying to figure out what to do, what to say, how to react.  
  
She closed her eyes and imagined Severus taking her hands in his, and looking deeply into the eyes of her seventeen year-old self with ample eyes.  
  
"Hermione."  
  
// Oh Gods, what the have I got myself into?! //  
  
The Ball was one week away, and ever since Dumbledore's announcement, she had been like an emotional bomb just waiting to explode.  
  
"Severus," she breathed, "there is something that you should know - my name isn't Heather. It's Hermione. Hermione Granger.  
  
Look. I know that you're angry. Okay, beyond angry, furious, I understand. I do, of course I do! But look. Listen, Severus, I love you. I do. It's weird, I know, but."  
  
Dear God. Realisation hit her, not only was she talking to herself, but she was talking to herself about telling him.  
  
Repeating her mantra, she inhaled deeply.  
  
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.  
  
But maybe just-  
  
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.  
  
He might underst-  
  
He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know. He must never know.  
  
NEVER.  
  
Never EVER or even on the off chance of a maybe.  
  
She drummed it into her head, refusing to think of the many innuendoes that could somehow result in the truth slipping out.  
  
NEVER EVER EVER.  
  
Thinking of the ball, of her self-acknowledged love, of the circumstance in which she had become entangled, of the hopelessness of her situation, she cried, letting the tears roll down her face until there was nothing but blotchy redness and shame at being so alone.  
  
After a while, she stood up and went back to the common room. She could not face him tonight.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Seven hours.  
  
For seven hours, he had waited, and she had not come.  
  
At first he had been mildly irritated, but had then realised that no direct arrangement had been made between them. Then, he had been nervous.  
  
Perhaps she did not want him. Now that she had had him twice, perhaps she was ashamed. Perhaps it had all been a joke, a cruel plan to trap him in her web.  
  
After a while, he had begun to worry. Maybe she was hurt. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death!  
  
At this stage, he had begun to roam Hogsmeade's many alleyways and corner- shops, searching for the missing girl.  
  
Having searched the town, he felt suspicious; what the hell did she think she was playing at? Now, after seven hours on the emotional see-saw, he simply felt tired, and oddly disappointed. Where was she? Didn't she care anymore?  
  
His head hurt. Well, obviously it must hurt, if he had even begun to consider that she might have cared in the first place.  
  
It was six o'clock in the evening, and Madam Rosmerta was looking oddly disconcerted by the fact that he was still there; that he had been there since three.  
  
Dumping a small pile of coins onto the counter, he departed, a small cauldronful of ingredients in his hand as he left.  
  
Why did he even care whether she turned up or not? Did it matter?  
  
All she was was a convenient shag-buddy.  
  
He shuddered at the word.  
  
Never had he come across words more vulgar than 'shag' and 'fuck'.  
  
The act of love-making in itself should not be so degraded by such a common phrase.  
  
So engrossed was he in his contemplation, that even he did not see the irony in his own thoughts. 


	18. Shadows and Tall Trees

Chpt18: Shadows and Tall Trees.  
  
".Severus.. Severus, wake up." Her rolled over, swatting lightly as she source of the voice blew softly into his ear.  
  
"Wake up, Severus, look, it's morning!"  
  
He grunted, opening his eyes as her lips reached down to softly taste his own.  
  
"Good morning, Heather," his voice grated out roughly, thick with the remnants of sleep.  
  
"It's always a good morning when you're here!" she winked mischievously, and he rolled onto his side, threading his hands through her hair.  
  
"You're amazing, you know that?"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione sighed deeply, pouring yet another coffee into her well-worn mug.  
  
Flicking through her calendar, she glared at the date marked "Yule Ball", wishing that there were some way to avoid it.  
  
It was Friday. Again.  
  
Last week, Friday had seemed like the unholiest thing ever created, today, it simply felt like something that would not, could not ever end.  
  
Should not ever begin. ~*~  
  
Double potions.  
  
Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.  
  
Potter vs. Malfoy.  
  
God's Gift vs. Hell's Angels.  
  
Neither for the first, nor the last time, Severus wondered why God took such joy in punishing him so, before finally deciding that the only possible answer to the question could be found on his left forearm.  
  
"Voldemort, you bloody bastard!" He shouted suddenly, grabbing a vial of corrosive potion and throwing it at the wall in rage.  
  
"Quit bloody screwing with me!"  
  
Shaking, he let himself collapse into an armchair, ignoring the innocuous hissing of the potion as it ate into the dungeons' stone walls.  
  
"Quit bloody screwing with me."  
  
Alone, the Potions Master sat, feeling old as he hunched into himself, his head in his hands, trying to regain control.  
  
"It's okay, come, you're alright." The voice was soft in his ear, and he looked up, finding nobody.  
  
Heather Gates.  
  
Who was she? What did she want? Hell, what did he want?  
  
"Leave me alone." He muttered to himself, brushing away the imaginary hand that reached out to comfort him.  
  
"But Severus, you are alone."  
  
He was having delusions. Hallucinations. A mid-life crisis, perhaps? "Dear Gods, help me."  
  
The voice smiled, and although he could not see her, he could feel the idea of her presence.  
  
"I thought that you didn't want to be helped. It's funny, how temperamental you can be, Severus, you really ought to make your mind up."  
  
"Fuck off. You're crazy."  
  
The voice laughed, the soft melody awakening from somewhere deep within his memory. "I'm not the one talking to myself here though, am I?"  
  
Severus snorted. "One of the first signs of madness, or so I'm told, is arguing with yourself - and losing."  
  
The voice smiled again, leaning in to give him a chaste kiss on his forehead.  
  
"You're not crazy, Severus, but fighting a battle is worthless if its goal is unclear."  
  
He glanced around the room again.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"You know who I am, Severus, I've been here all along, you just didn't see it, didn't look for me. I've found you though, I've found you, and you just need to find me."  
  
"Who are you?" He stood up, his senses alert.  
  
"You can't lose me, Severus, I'm right here, where I've always been, you just can't see it."  
  
He stepped towards the voice, but instead of bumping into the solid matter that he had expected, the voice seemed to filter more deeply into his skull.  
  
"WHO ARE YOU?"  
  
The voice laughed, not mocking, but gentle, "Why, Severus, I'm you."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
// Hermione, stop talking to yourself. //  
  
She brushed her hair, not even bothering to try to tame it. She had ten minutes. Ten precious minutes, and then she would have to face him.  
  
Calmly, Crookshanks rubbed against the side of her leg, meowing softly as he petted him.  
  
"Crookshanks, you are so lucky that you don't know who you really are. apart from being a cat."  
  
She picked him up, scrunching her nose up and making faces at him as she hugged him close.  
  
The cat continued to purr for a moment, before deciding that his Mistress had gone cookoo and jumping free from her clasp.  
  
He sat on the bed looking unimpressed, giving her a look that clearly said, "Aren't you late for class?"  
  
"Hmph. Be that way then. Don't even try to deny the fact that you are spoiled silly though, because I will not let you!"  
  
Unwavering, Crookshanks was still extremely unamused. 


	19. Seven Hours and Fifteen Days

Chpt19: Seven Hours and Fifteen Days.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
Something was tickling him, gently, yet insistently trying to wake him.  
  
".Severus.. Severus, wake up." He rolled over, swatting lightly as she source of the voice blew softly into his ear.  
  
"Wake up, Severus, look, it's morning!"  
  
He grunted, screwing his face up, pushing the new day away for a few more precious moments until her lips reached down to his own.  
  
"Good morning, Heather," his voice grated out roughly, thick with the remnants of sleep.  
  
"It's always a good morning when you're here!" she winked mischievously, and he rolled onto his side, threading his hands through her hair as he stared into her chocolate-brown eyes. He smiled, spotting the traces of amber and green that always flitted about in the depth of her gaze, creating the mirage of colour that was hers and hers alone.  
  
"You're amazing, you know that?"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Your potions are coming along well." He glanced around the room, taking in the texture of each potion, as a king would survey the fruits of his realm as they are laid before him.  
  
He paused.  
  
"Patil, this rendition of the word 'viscous' is highly original," the class looked on in silence as his lips curled in a malicious smirk, "I suggest that you discontinue your over-eager stirring and stick to the necessary rhythm. Five points will be deducted for your error."  
  
Blatant grins were met by smothered groans, and Snape returned to his podium.  
  
"You may all be extraordinary wand-handlers," a cynical eyebrow arched upwards as he continued, "but in this classroom, attention to detail is essential. You do not simply throw any and every ingredient fathomable into your cauldrons, you weigh, you measure, you insure that you follow the correct instructions, and if in doubt, you do not improvise!"  
  
Carefully lifting a small jar into view, he unscrewed it and poured its contents onto his palm.  
  
"This," he paused, "is powdered catstail, an ingredient that is vital to many potions. Patil, bring a ladleful of your solution here."  
  
Warily, Parvati dipped a ladle into her cauldron, and poured its contents into a small bowl before proceeding to take it to the front of the classroom.  
  
Once she had taken her seat again, Snape continued to talk, and knowing what would come, Hermione eagerly leaned forward to listen.  
  
The lesson had been a strenuous one, as the whole class had been set to stirring, chopping, replenishing, and she had barely been able to brood on her situation. She had simply noted the occasional presence behind her, or to a side as he drifted by to inspect the brew.  
  
Carefully, Snape took a brittle glass dropper out from one of the many drawers in his desk, and took a tiny amount of potion out of the bowl, placing it into the centre of a ceramic tile.  
  
Then, with a reverent touch, he took some of the powdered catstail and sprinkled it over the droplet. Immediately, the mixture sparked, and flared up in a mighty red flame that licked the ceiling, scorching it into a deeper black.  
  
"Had this been more than a single drop of Miss Patil's potion, the entire dungeon floor would have been incinerated, and so therefore would all the floors above. Now, Malfoy, bring yours."  
  
Smugly, Draco Malfoy rose from his seat, taking a bowlful of his own potion, and swaggering his way towards the front of the classroom.  
  
"Thank-you, Mr Malfoy," Snape said, and the boy returned to his seat.  
  
Repeating the procedure with the pipette and a fresh tile, Snape continued to talk.  
  
"When brewed correctly, the base for a successful Polyjuice Potion should react in a less. dramatic style to the way that Miss Patil's potion reacted. Now," he paused, his face impassively contrasting with the excited spark in his eyes. surely this was a man that loved the art of potion- making.  
  
"Watch, and learn."  
  
He put the tiny droplet onto the tile, and mesmerised, Hermione watched as he expertly sprinkled the powdered catstail over the mixture.  
  
Immediately, the droplet expanded to the size of a tennis ball and rose into the air, hovering several feet above the desk before it burst into a mirage of light and colour that filled the whole dungeon.  
  
Snape let the reaction continue for a moment, before finally muttering an exasperated "Enough!" and waving his wand towards the source of the outburst.  
  
"Now, if any of you want to continue to make an extremely dangerous and volatile mixture, I assure you, please, continue - I will simply warn you that if you do, I will be forced to make you drink the said mixture. The reaction between the Aequivocare and the powdered catstail must indeed be very intriguing once they have both been consumed."  
  
From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw several people glancing nervously at the contents of their cauldrons, and smiled. Somehow, she recognised the slight tone that differentiated what, to Snape, was a genuine threat, and what was simply intrinsic to his own form of dry humour.  
  
Her body quivered reflexively at the intimate knowledge that she had acquired of his personal traits and habits, and she hurried to smother it.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
That lunchtime, Hermione hurried back to her dorm.  
  
Tomorrow was Saturday - Hogsmeade day.  
  
It was clear that she still longed to go to him. but.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
She didn't want to hurt anymore, she didn't want to fight, to lie, to always have to hide from him and hope beyond dreams that.  
  
No. No, and twice over, no!  
  
But deep inside, the answer was clear.  
  
Yes, with all her heart and soul and with every part of her very being, the answer was yes. In her heart of hearts, Hermione simply longed that he should somehow discover her.  
  
She closed her eyes and thought of the scene: He would look down at her, his eyes wide as he realised who she was, and the anger would flare up there as she stopped breathing in fear.  
  
Then he would frown and open his mouth wordlessly, all words forgotten, and she would try to apologise, mumbling something along the lines of "I.erm.look.".  
  
Hermione inhaled deeply, opening her eyes to find that she was alone in her rooms. When had her imagination become so vivid? She had clearly envisioned his lithe form, and had expected it to still be there.  
  
When had she begun to fool herself that any such thing was possible?  
  
Severus Snape would never love her, would never sit her on a Cumulonimbus (her favourite broomstick by far - but don't tell Harry) and fly off with her into the sunset.  
  
He would never understand that somehow, she had to let it happen, even though she had never expected it to.  
  
Perhaps she should go tomorrow.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
Yesterday, everything had seemed so confused, one minute she had been all set to go into town, and then she had been faced by him in the hallway. The fearful possibility had suddenly appeared that he could quite possibly loathe her, and she had fled from the idea.  
  
Doubts had reared up out of nowhere, and now she felt more alone than she had before.  
  
Could he loathe her? Could he possibly detest her as she was, yet accept what she would be. For she would be 'Heather Gates' in five years' time, and perhaps then he would understand.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I'm too proud to lose.  
  
This morning he had been reasonably gentle with the Gryffindor seventh years, but as the day had progressed, his mood had deteriorated, resulting in the eventual loss of about a hundred points from three of the four collective Houses.  
  
Not that he could ever be accused of misusing his position of power.  
  
Nonetheless, reducing a third year Ravenclaw to tears simply because she was "breathing too loudly and disturbing the silence" did not prevent Friday from becoming Saturday. How simply wonderful.  
  
He glanced down at the sheet of parchment on his desk that he had been pretending to be trying to mark for the last hour, and finally acknowledged that, like a bird without a song, there was clearly something missing.  
  
And the feeling unsettled him.  
  
Like the careless indecision of a forgotten memory, he knew that somehow he was haunted by the presence that had grown in his mind; Like some dark ancestral spectre come to shake the foundations of the earth.  
  
He groaned, threading his hands though the lank hair that fell over his eyes.  
  
How he hated similes. Comparisons always seemed to make a situation so much worse. 


	20. In the Event of Something Happening

Chpt20: In the Event of Something Happening to Me.  
  
"Good morning, sunshine."  
  
He ignored the voice.  
  
"Severus? Severus, I know that you're awake," she poked him softly in the side.  
  
".Severus.. Severus, wake up. Look, it's morning!"  
  
"I hate mornings." He muttered, rolling over and shoving his head under the pillow.  
  
The weight on the bed beside him shifted, and he felt her breath on his cheek as she leaned under the pillow to see him.  
  
"Hmmmm." the sound was low, and it reverberated down his spine as he tried to avoid the day.  
  
"Am I going to have to drag you out of this bed, Severus Snape?"  
  
Trying to articulate some sort of negative sound, Severus managed a defunct "Ugh".  
  
Laughing slightly, he felt the voice shift, then draw nearer, placing a warm kiss on his mouth, the action immediately bringing him back to earth.  
  
"Hmm. I thought that might work."  
  
Opening his eyes, he looked up at her, "Good morning, Heather."  
  
She smiled, her bed-head topped face lighting up, as her eyes sparked eagerly, "It's always good when you're here, Severus, you should know that."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Severus Snape opened his eyes.  
  
That dream, that goddam dream that had plagued his sleep for the past nights had once again decided to torture him.  
  
To torture him. torment him. Intimidate and persecute him.  
  
The dream was systematic in its offensive, and what unbalanced him most was that he longed to dream it again and again, and never have to awaken from it.  
  
Shrugging out of bed, he padded towards the bathroom, his bare feet slapping loudly against the stone floor.  
  
It was going to be a long day.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione leaked the last drop of solution into the vial of ageing potion.  
  
"Tempus Adaequatus."  
  
Tapping it with her wand, she muttered the charm that would activate the new component, and pocketed the result.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
// I wonder what I should wear today.? //  
  
He stroked a finger over the selection in his wardrobe.  
  
// Let me see, black, black, or. ah yes! Black. Hmmm. decisions, decisions. //  
  
Choosing to ignore his own unexpected humour, he lifted out a random hanger, and strolled towards the window.  
  
// It will be cold in Hogsmeade today. //  
  
Indeed, it would be.  
  
Outside, in the lonely mountains of the Scottish highlands, the snow was falling thickly, covering the hills and valleys in its icy winter blanket.  
  
But the cold would never compare to the frost that had engulfed the hearts of the two individuals who were fearfully preparing to meet the unknown.  
  
Would she be there?  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Would he be there?  
  
Would he hate her for leaving him on Thursday? Would he be angry, would he be furious enough to.  
  
Hermione dropped the thought, letting it blow out into the empty caverns of her mind.  
  
The vague image of the thought fluttering in the wind, drifting out of her grasp and into the darkness presented itself, and Hermione suppressed a snort.  
  
This was no time for laughter and poetry.  
  
Inside, she ached, burned, wept for him, for herself, for them. She didn't dare to let the tears fall, knowing that once she had begun, she would never stop, and that would hurt her beyond reason.  
  
And it would hurt him.  
  
Yesterday, Friday, that most ungodly day, he had been so angry, so irritable.  
  
At first, she could have sung for joy at the knowledge that he was affected by her absence, but as the day had gone on, the doubts had crept in.  
  
She would not allow herself to hope for the impossible.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Snape opened a book, thick, heavy, leather-bound in appearance, and opened it. Inside, all the pages were blank, tinged with a darkly ochre colour that was constituent to this particular type of ancient parchment.  
  
"Apokaluptein."  
  
Instantly, the pages were filled with writing in his own spindly, spidery hand, and he pointed his wand at the book.  
  
"Saturday twenty first of December." He paused.  
  
"I am going to Hogsmeade. She may be there; she may not. Whatever callous hold she has over me draws me in the inevitable hope that we will meet. I do not understand. this is a New World to me."  
  
The book slammed shut, and he stared down at its surface, its archaic design in embossed loops and swirls.  
  
Abashment was a condition that unsettled him, one that he had never experienced before and had no intention of living with.  
  
Pointing his wand back at the book, he muttered the spell, "Finite Apokaluptein", and the writing vanished again.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Beneath the cellar of Honeydukes, Hermione finally allowed herself to stop for a moment.  
  
Haste could prove disastrous to an already vulnerable situation, and she had no intention of pushing him away.  
  
Slowly pushing her robes from her shoulders, she began to get changed into her dress-robes.  
  
A deep burgundy red in colour, she had never worn them, fearing that the plunging neckline and figure-hugging corset would be deemed too opulent for a seventeen year old girl.  
  
For now she would be twenty-three, though.  
  
For now, she would be Heather Gates, and she would flourish in the knowledge that, for now, she could love him, and maybe, just maybe, he could love her.  
  
The silk was cool on her skin, and she transfigured the wall in front of her into a mirror, smiling at the person that she saw there.  
  
"Hermione," she whispered, "this dress is too good for you, you know." Her reflection smiled back at her, before reaching down to lift a small glass vessel out of the pocket in the school robes.  
  
Downing its contents, she closed her eyes, reluctant to see the transformation as it took place.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Snape inhaled sharply, gasping at the sight of her.  
  
She was walking slowly towards him, looking confident, yet uncertain, and somehow uncomfortable. Much the same as he felt.  
  
When she had approached, he bowed courteously, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, seeing the warring emotions that lay there.  
  
"Miss Gates." "Professor Snape."  
  
The forced indifference in both of their voices was undeniable.  
  
"Would you care for a drink? A refreshment of some sort?" He indicated towards The Three Broomsticks, and Hermione hesitated.  
  
"Well. I had rather hoped that maybe - maybe we could talk."  
  
Glancing up from her inspection of the snow, she met his gaze, albeit nervously, and tried to present the semblance of certitude.  
  
Snape simply raised an eyebrow and nodded.  
  
"Come," carefully directing her, he lead her back towards the passage into Hogwarts, uncertain as to what would happen next.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
For once, she ignored the figures in the hallway, ignored their clamouring voices as they questioned her on her health and other trivialities.  
  
At his door, he spoke the same password as before, and silenced the gargoyles with a deadly look. Its wrought iron hinges barely whispered as the door swung open, and Hermione found herself faltering.  
  
Should she enter, she would open a whole world full of possibilities - some of which she feared with all her heart.  
  
Snape laughed. "I promise that I won't attack you as soon as we're on the other side."  
  
Looking up at him, Hermione nodded, smiling faintly as she stepped into his rooms. 


	21. Tenho Medo Deste Amor

Chpt21: Tenho Medo Deste Amor.  
  
Nothing had changed.  
  
Well, nothing would have changed, would it, it had only been one week since she had last visited.  
  
Still. there was the same darkness, the same familiar cold, the same feeling that even though she was a stranger, she was somehow part of this world, of Snape's world.  
  
Wystetia was perched on the mantelpiece, calmly grooming her affluent feathers as Snape approached her, his back to Hermione.  
  
"Severus.I - I'm sorry about Thursday. I know that we hadn't exactly agreed to anything, but, well, you know." He wasn't making this any easier. was she even making any sense?  
  
"And then - well - it's just that." her voice faded out, succumbing to the silence that surrounded them.  
  
It had been a very Gryffindor notion for her to simply go up to him, make amends, and then for everything to be dandy between them.  
  
// It was never going to happen. // She told herself dejectedly. And yet.  
  
Stepping up to him, she placed an imploring hand between his shoulder blades, hoping that he might somehow react to her attempts to break the ice.  
  
He did not respond.  
  
Should she be glad that he did not recoil from her touch, or should she be afflicted by his impassivity?  
  
"Severus, this isn't easy for me, I've never been-" she stopped, taking a deep breath, trying to stop her voice from shaking so fiercely.  
  
"I don't know anything - I don't understand!"  
  
Snape turned towards her, his beetle black eyes, glittering through the darkness. "It is a sad day, when knowledge is compared to understanding."  
  
"That's the thing, Severus, I know that-" she paused, stepping around so that she was in front of him, "I know that I feel for you, but I don't understand it. I know that can't stand to be with you, and yet I can't bear to be away."  
  
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze and holding it. "Do you understand that, Severus? Do you? There are times when even I don't understand it, and it's at those times I don't know what to do."  
  
"On Thursday I was scared, I was so, so scared." She stopped, leaning her forehead into his chest as she inhaled his musky scent.  
  
Snape peered down at her. "What were you scared of?"  
  
Hermione thought for a moment, burying her head into his robes, insuring that her voice was well muffled as she whispered softly, "I love you, Severus Snape, I really do."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
She spoke clearly this time; "Nothing. I was just being stupid. There was nothing to be afraid of, and I see that now. I was just being stupid."  
  
Taking Hermione's hand, Snape led her towards the couch, indicating for her to sit down, before stiffly taking a place beside her.  
  
Trying to sound conversational, he began, "So what did you do on Thursday?"  
  
// I huddled in the tunnel under Honeydukes and cried myself dry, cried until my eyes were raw, then I ran back to my dorm in Gryffindor tower and cried some more. //  
  
"Nothing much. it was.odd.being away from you. I had a lot of thinking to do."  
  
Reading between the lines, Snape looked at her, surprise in his eyes.  
  
Did she actually care for him?  
  
"And you? Did you do anything interesting?"  
  
"No. I walked through Hogsmeade for a few hours, saw the sights. I found nothing - nothing of interest."  
  
Hermione winced, double entendres did nothing to soften the truth. She looked at her feet, stifling a shiver of delight at the knowledge that. he had looked for her!  
  
"Cold? Forgive me, one gets used to the chill after living in it for so long." Lighting the fire, he shrugged out of his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.  
  
Hermione smiled. "You're something special, you know that, Severus Snape?" "And you, Heather, are one in a million."  
  
Had Hermione been sitting anywhere near a mirror, she would have been mortally ashamed at the goofy love-struck grin that had spread itself over her face. Thankfully, however, there wasn't a mirror in sight.  
  
~*~*~*~ As the day drew on, Hermione remained in Snape's quarters, and delighted in conversing with him. The subject matter was endless for he seemed to share in her eager thirst for knowledge, and, of course, the understanding of how to use it. Eventually, however, as she had albeit unconsciously promised herself, she had to leave.  
  
"So soon?" Snape asked, unwilling to end what had been a most enthusiastic debate on the Ministry of Magic's latest scheme for magical beasts.  
  
Hermione nodded. It was two o'clock, which meant that in order to see if her potion would indeed end at her command, she would need to leave early.  
  
Early being now.  
  
"I have a lot of work to complete for Monday before the holiday begins."  
  
Snape assented glumly, knowing how irritating end-of-term deadlines could be. Indeed, he still had a lot of assignments to mark, and then, of course, there was the Ball. The Ball!  
  
"I take it, then that you are free on Tuesday?"  
  
Tuesday. Christmas Eve. What on earth was he up to, Hermione wondered before shyly agreeing.  
  
"Good." He paused to think, "Perhaps, then, you would care to join me for a Yuletide celebration? Nothing special, of course, but."  
  
Hermione could have jumped for joy, and quickly silenced him, "Severus, I could think of nothing better than to spend Christmas Eve here." "Really? I mean - um - good. About eight o'clock, then?"  
  
She agreed, "On the dot."  
  
Once the agreement was in place, though, there was nothing else left to do but to say her farewells as he guided her to the door.  
  
She looked at him.  
  
This morning, she had felt as though the world's weight had been on her shoulders, but now. now she felt on top of the world, and there couldn't possibly anything that could bring her down.  
  
Leaning into his arms, she offered him a gentle kiss, letting him bend down to meet her in silent assent as her heart soared above on angels' wings.  
  
Weaving his fingers through her hair, Snape deepened the kiss, pulling her to him as she flew higher into the sky.  
  
She did not want to let go, and neither did he.  
  
But, no, she had come here to talk, and the world seemed all the finer because he was in it, and because now she knew. She knew, and she'd be damned if she ever forgot it.  
  
Whispering goodbye, she opened the door and slipped out of the room, counting the hours until their next meeting. 


	22. No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition

Chpt22: No one Expects the Spanish Inquisition.  
  
The serenity and feeling of completion that had encompassed her lasted for the rest of the day, and for the moment she drifted from place to place as though under the influence of a levitating spell. Blissfully unaware of those around her, Hermione made her way back to the passage under the Honeydukes cellar, and standing in front of the mirror, she closed her eyes and ended the spell: "Tempus fugit."  
  
Looking again, she stared at the image before her; the reflection stared back at her, its golden-brown locks tumbling over its eyes, its cheeks pink with hidden joy, its lips rising in a satisfied smile.  
  
It had worked! An hour and a half before the potion should have worn out, she was, once again, in her usual teenage form.  
  
Could this day get any better?!  
  
Quickly getting changed, she began the long journey back to the main school building.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Maybe she's got some sort of boyfriend that she doesn't want us to know about."  
  
"Don't be stupid, Ron, this is Hermione that we're talking about."  
  
"Well, I don't see you coming up with anything!"  
  
"That's because I'm thinking."  
  
"Well, what are you thinking about?"  
  
Harry was silent for a moment. For the last few weeks, he had become increasingly worried about Hermione - she had taken to spending more and more time alone in her room, reading or talking to herself.  
  
"Maybe she's finally cracked, I mean, we've been warning her for years about all the work she's taking on for no reason."  
  
"Ron, I am trying to think!"  
  
"Bloody hell, how hard do you have to think to figure out that Hermione's gone round the bend?"  
  
"She's not crazy - she's up to something. Something big."  
  
"Big?"  
  
"Big," he maintained. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was something against the rules."  
  
Ron simply looked at him for a moment, and then laughed. "You're right, Harry, Hermione's not crazy; you are!"  
  
"Look," he paused to collect his thoughts, "she's been going off to Hogsmeade twice a week for the last three or four weeks on this independent project that she kept going on about during the holidays."  
  
"Yeah." Ron looked confused.  
  
"Well, you know Hermione, she can't bear to keep all these things to herself, and she hasn't mentioned the project for a good while now."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Is that a good 'oh'?"  
  
"Erm."  
  
He sighed, "Listen, basically, it looks like Hermione is going off twice a week with my map - presumably to Hogsmeade, but we can't be sure of that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"BECAUSE SHE HAS THE MAP!"  
  
"Oh. Ok."  
  
They had been in their dorm for the past hour or so, trying to figure out what on earth their best friend had been up to.  
  
"Well, what are we going to do?" Ron giving up on trying to make suggestions.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"We are going to do something, aren't we? I mean, we need Hermione! Without her we won't be The Dream Team anymore! We'll be. The Dream Duo, and that sounds so wrong!"  
  
Harry stopped thinking for a moment to look up at Ron.  
  
"The Dream Team? Please don't tell me that people actually call us that."  
  
"Why not? We've got the makings of the ultimate Team, Harry, there's The Brain, The Goof (that's me), and The Boy Who Lived. We're unbreakable!"  
  
"Ron -"  
  
"If that's what you think of Hermione, then I don't think you'll get very far with this little inquest of yours."  
  
The boys looked up to find that Ginny Weasley was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.  
  
Jumping to his feet, Harry ran up to her and closed the door, placing a locking charm on it before turning to the wilful sixth year in front of him.  
  
"How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"I hate to be clichéd, Harry, but I can only say that I've been here long enough."  
  
Ron stood up, joining them, "Go on then, you obviously think that you know something."  
  
Ginny snorted, "I know a lot of things Ron, though I'm not particularly sure that you'd be interested in most of them. As for Hermione though, I'm not sure what I know, but I wish I knew more."  
  
The boys nodded, eagerly awaiting what she had to say.  
  
Looking at them, Ginny had to smother a laugh, seeing the expectant expressions that they had acquired.  
  
Glad that they hadn't simply kicked her out of the room, she went over to one of the beds and sat comfortably on the end.  
  
"Well, it was a couple of weeks ago now, you know, on that Spaghetti Day that Dumbledore had."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, Hermione came in that night from Hogsmeade - looking a bit off colour, if you ask me - and then you two came out and gave her the Spanish Inquisition about gods know what. If you remember, she said she wasn't hungry or something,"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"and then you went off down to dinner, adding that stupid comment about how it must be 'that time of the month again', Ron, which I really did not appreciate. It's unbelievably annoying when idiot males like you put everything down to something that you will never understand, I mean-"  
  
"Er, Ginny, the point. Keep to the point."  
  
"Huh?" She stopped her indignant pro-feminist mutterings to look at him questioningly.  
  
"You were telling us about Hermione," Ron put in.  
  
"Oh, sorry, yeah, where was I?"  
  
"You were-"  
  
"Yes, I know, Harry, thank you very much! Anyway, after you'd gone off to stuff your faces in spagbol or whatever it was that you were cramming yourselves with - I would have thought that you'd both have learnt decent table manners by now-"  
  
Harry cleared his throat, cutting her off before she trailed off into irrelevant nonsensical ramblings again.  
  
"Hmph, don't you clear your throat at me, Harry Potter! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I went up her dorm, and I swear I could hear someone crying in there. At first I thought that I was imagining it, but then the next day I saw her again and - and-"  
  
She paused. She had suddenly felt as though she were sharing something very personal, and very secret. Maybe she was wrong to have come here. Maybe she was wrong to have come, knowing what they would be doing, knowing that she would only become entangled in the web that they would inevitably weave.  
  
"And what, Ginny?" Harry said, and looking at him, she knew that if anyone understood, it was him. "We care about her, we've got to help her somehow."  
  
"I know, but - Okay." She took a deep breath, and let the words flow.  
  
"I went up to her after you had left, and, well, she totally broke down. I don't know what had got to her so badly, but something had, and it was eating her up."  
  
"Didn't she tell you anything? Anything?"  
  
Ginny shut their voices out, trying to recall exactly what had happened.  
  
"Nothing. She said that she'd made a mistake of some sort, a big mistake; she said that she didn't know how to fix it."  
  
"It's not much, " said Harry, after a while, "but it's a start."  
  
"I'd bet that it's a lot more than she meant to tell anyone."  
  
They looked at Ron, nodding, and he looked somewhat pleased that his comment had not been rebuked.  
  
"So where do we go from here?"  
  
Now it was Ginny that they turned to - it seemed that she had proven herself to be the fountain of all knowledge, a position that was usually appointed to Hermione, and Ginny could really have done without it.  
  
"Well," she felt distinctly uncomfortable and uncertain. The boys might not recognise it, but she knew that there was a friendship at stake here.  
  
"Why don't we just keep an eye out for her, make sure that she's okay, and try to keep track of any changes in her. It won't be a good sign if she's picking at her food or sleeping too little - or oversleeping, at that."  
  
"Or vanishing suddenly when only a second beforehand she was right behind us," Ron put in.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"For all we know, she could be using the Time-Turner again."  
  
"We'll soon see, but boys, for God's sake, be careful and be discreet. Especially you, Ron, if she finds out what we're up to we'll be somewhere beyond Coventry." 


	23. An Impossible Princess

Chpt24: Fear, Surprise, and Ruthless Efficiency.  
  
"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore's voice was annoyingly cheery as usual, "I'm glad you could make it so soon!"  
  
He nodded curtly in reply, and hovered slightly until Dumbledore hastily told him to sit down instead of "hanging about on the edge of the room like a lamb that's wandered into the meat market".  
  
Snape's lip curled at the comparison, but he sat down nonetheless.  
  
"Well, Severus," he began, "I am interested as to how your seventh years are coming along, their exams are quite soon, and it is essential that none of them are lagging behind."  
  
Was this a joke? With a question like that, it was a case of 'all roads lead to Longbottom'. "Professor Dumbledore, overall, the year group is achieving an average D Grade."  
  
"A D?" Dumbledore's brows knitted together in a close frown, "how is this possible? Surely the standard of some of the brighter students would raise this average."  
  
"Indeed it would, headmaster, but the standard of those that are-" he pause to select his words carefully, "-not quite as bright," he sneered, "bring the average right back down again."  
  
"Hmmm." Dumbledore was clearly thinking of the most effective method to deal with this.  
  
"Perhaps extra study sessions would be needed, Severus, to bring those students up to the usual levels."  
  
"Of course, headmaster."  
  
Study sessions. This was exactly what he needed right now, to have to deal with the school's biggest dunderheads once a week - at least - just so that they could get a C for their exams in May and be able to go off to their respective futures feeling relieved that they would never have to use any of the knowledge that he had so methodically drummed into their heads for seven years.  
  
Wow, Teaching really is the most fulfilling career imaginable.  
  
"You wouldn't have to do all the work yourself, of course," Dumbledore was still talking, "Perhaps you would be able to find a particularly talented student or two to help."  
  
Snape nodded - or was it a shrug? He was not in the least bit inclined to encourage the man at his own expense.  
  
"Let me see." The headmaster pulled a few sheets of parchment out of one his desk's numerous drawers and began to scan down the list, for a list it was, occasionally muttering to himself.  
  
"Abott. Terry Boot. Miss Bulstrode. Seamus Finnigan. Morag MacDougal." He glanced up at Snape, "I hear Draco Malfoy is quite good at Potions, Severus, unlike his father - perhaps we should take it as a sign."  
  
Then, taking a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment, he began to write a series of names down, which he handed to Snape.  
  
"I think that this will do. There is one from each class, but two from Slytherin. Blaise and Draco show incredible potential, Severus, and I believe that it our duty to encourage that."  
  
Snape shrugged again, non-committal to the last, and glanced at the names before him.  
  
"Mandy Brocklehurst - Ravenclaw  
  
Hermione Granger - Gryffindor  
  
Morag MacDougal - Hufflepuff  
  
Draco Malfoy - Slytherin  
  
Blaise Zabini - Slytherin."  
  
Although he hated to admit it, Dumbledore had made an excellent selection.  
  
"Now, I think that it would be best for you to do these sessions down in the dungeons where all the potions equipment is easily accessible, and then you'll be able to use everything available to the best of your advantage. You have a lot to give these kids, Severus, whether they see it or not, and I'm sure they'll be grateful to you someday."  
  
Someday indeed, he sneered, "I don't need their gratitude, Albus, what I need is a lesson where they actually achieve the goal without blowing their cauldrons up."  
  
Dumbledore laughed, "Ah, Severus, you are quite the joker, I was being entirely serious."  
  
"So was I." he murmured inaudibly.  
  
Seemingly satisfied with the discussion's outcome, and having either not heard, or chosen to ignore Severus' comment, Dumbledore turned his attention to other matters.  
  
"I hear you are continuing your weekly visits to Hogsmeade, all is well there, I assume?"  
  
// Saturday. Two days, not including today and Tuesday. // He thought automatically, his mind receding into the odd warmth that he had found in her this afternoon.  
  
// Heather Gates. //  
  
"Yes, headmaster."  
  
Dumbledore raised a questioning eyebrow, but he said nothing. "Ah."  
  
After that, they sat in silence as the headmaster regarded the man before him, his eyes piercingly blue as they twinkled into Severus' own, and to an outsider it would have seemed that they were witnessing a battle of wills.  
  
A while later, and Dumbledore looked away, his eyes still shining as he sighed cheerily and laughed. "Well, all is well," he said, shuffling the papers on his desk.  
  
Severus stood up uncomfortably, the short list still in his hand as he curtly took his leave of the headmaster and departed.  
  
He felt tired. Tired as one that has recently suffered great toil, but he did not know why. Yes, the headmaster had, it seems, tried to find what Severus' will said but his voice would not, but whether he had found it or not, the tired Potions Master could not tell. Presumably, only time would tell that. 


	24. Fear, Surprise, and Ruthless

Chpt25: Bed of Roses.  
  
Severus Snape awoke to the sound of rain falling in the outside world. It was late. well, as late as one could consider nine o'clock to be; but to a man that made a habit of rising a 5am, nine could most certainly be considered late.  
  
Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to overpower the sheets of rain that had began to fall on the previous night, and the effect was a cacophony of colour and light that would alter and distort faster than the viewer could blink. In his chambers, however, Snape was not aware of the rainbow of colours that glittered on each windowpane or flagstone, nor was he aware of the soft murmurings of the wind as it teased the frozen grass with gentle whispers. At this moment, all that Severus Snape was aware of was of the extreme absence of one thing.  
  
For many nights now, he had been plagued by a dream. A dream, moreover, not a nightmare or a demon of the sleep, merely a dream that should have warmed the soul. But it did not.  
  
This dream had only reminded him of everything that he had spent so many years trying to forget; that he had lived his life without actually stopping to think he about where he was going. Had that not been how he had become a Death Eater? How he had carelessly thrown away the lives of countless civilians?  
  
But something had happened, something that had come before the dream - that had caused the dream, perhaps, as the light within himself had begun to choke and flare into the spark of hope of what had once been.  
  
When people are alone, they will sometimes meet someone that looks a certain way, or has something in their smile. Someone that makes them feel a little less alone. But it is wrong to hope. Only a fool would see a beautiful pool and admire it for its beauty, only a fool would dare to look at it and hazard to hope that shoals of piranhas were not hidden in its depths.  
  
It did not do to dwell on the hopes and dreams that a man would share with himself in the deepest watches of the night when even he could not see their true identities.  
  
Snape opened his eyes again, stretching and yawning as he slid out of the bed, his feet padding on the cold stone floors.  
  
The dream had not returned. He was free, and his heart rejoiced in that he was not alone. No matter how dark his thoughts should become, Heather Gates had promised to be there with him.  
  
He was not alone.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ron caught the ball as it bounced off the wall, and threw it back again with well-practised ease.  
  
"So," he began, launching the ball again, "Does anyone know what the hell happened?"  
  
The two other people in the room shrugged and kicked their feet uncomfortably.  
  
"I mean," he glanced at Ginny, "it's not normal, is it, even for a girl?"  
  
"Ron, the mood-swings that you males so often put down to PMS are mostly just the results of you guys being such irritating arseholes!"  
  
"In which case, we're back to square one. Hermione must have found herself a boyfriend of some sort." Harry intruded, catching the ball mid flight and throwing it from one hand to the other as he tried to think clearly.  
  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Ron waved his wand, producing another ball that was identical in colour and size to the last. Ginny sat down exasperatedly and tugged at the hair that fell about her face.  
  
"That just doesn't make sense though, I mean, why would Hermione want to hide something like this? And anyway," she paused, "wouldn't you have heard about it from the boy involved?"  
  
Harry nodded, "You're right, Ginny, guys can't help but brag, and I'm sure that whoever was going out with Hermione would be glad to let everyone know that he'd won her over."  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow but refused to allow herself to comment, saying instead, "Well, surely that can only mean that she's been seeing someone outside of the school."  
  
Harry nodded and looked over his shoulder at Ron. "What do you think, Ron?"  
  
"I think it's a bloody brilliant idea! And, gee, just for the record," he grinned, "I would like to say that I am not in any way smug that the idea that I suggested ages ago and was dismissed by you is now the most viable."  
  
Slightly perplexed, the other two stared at him before bursting into gales of laughter.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In her room, the subject of the ongoing discussion was busily writing an essay.  
  
The Ball would be on Tuesday, but unfortunately, Hermione Granger was still stuck on Sunday morning. Never in the history of man had the clocks been known to tick to slowly, the seconds lengthening to the size of fully-grown elephants as they laboriously tried to move the hands of time forward.  
  
Tomorrow would be Monday, she thought, closing the textbook in front of her and setting her quill aside and looking out the window in front of her. Without going outside, or opening the window, she knew that it was a beautiful day, and she could almost feel the wind as it whistled past her ears.  
  
Standing resolutely, she crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door, taking out her plain black school robes, specially designed in some long past unknown century by a witch with maximum heat-retention in mind. Wrapping it about her, and adding a standard Gryffindor scarf as the final touch, she exited the room, leaving it locked and warded as a matter of habit.  
  
The journey through Hogwarts was oddly uneventful. Oddly, of course, in comparison to its usual furore, yet rather normal - considering the fact that it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Hermione, however, did not feel the silence about her.  
  
She may have felt it, perhaps, back in her first year, in a time that she did not now have the inclination to recall. But that Hermione was gone now.  
  
In a dramatic gesture, of departure, she threw up her hands, saying "adieu!" as though to the invisible fraction of her past self that had chosen to linger through to present life. Then, bursting into an embarrassed smile and giggling slightly, she turned around, checking that no one had seen result of the mental conversation that she had been having with herself.  
  
The stairway was still empty, and she continued on her journey, greeting the paintings that waved and called out from the walls.  
  
The result of what she had set into motion when she had first decided to venture into Hogsmeade all those many weeks ago would have to be seen now, and although she was uncertain of how it would end, she knew one thing for sure; she was head, body and soul in love with Severus Snape. Never in her wildest, most confused dreams had she imagined that she could feel this for anyone - especially him - or that he would actually allow her to indulge her whim.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Destiny has a funny way  
  
When it comes and takes all your cares away.  
  
I can't think of a single thing  
  
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The day was swept up in the pre-Ball commotion, and soon enough, classes had ended, and Hermione had been rushed off into the heart of Gryffindor Tower by Ginny Weasley, after all, "the preparation process simply HAS to start the day before!"  
  
Following a strict regime of depilatory spells and intensive moisturising (along with a couple of mud-packs, manicures, pedicures, and various other treatments), Hermione was eventually allowed to flop back into her bed, feeling exhausted (yet oddly refreshed), and let out a long breath.  
  
Ginny crept onto the corner and grinned, her skin positively glowing.  
  
"Trust me, Hermione, we are going to stun and dazzle tomorrow!"  
  
"I would have settled for something more usual that required half the work!"  
  
"More usual?! Oh, really, Hermione, I would have thought that you wanted to make an impression, you know, like back in your fourth year."  
  
Hermione snorted, remembering how many hours she had spent preparing for her supposed 'hot date' with Viktor.  
  
This time, the Ball wouldn't be the time to make her impression, it would be the after-show party.  
  
"You still haven't told me who you're going with," Ginny commented, trying not to sound eager.  
  
"That's because I'm going alone.  
  
(gasp)  
  
I'm glad Harry got his act together and asked you out - it's about bloody time!"  
  
"How can you be going alone, Hermione?! This is the last Yule Ball you'll be able to go to here, you need a date!"  
  
Hermione didn't reply, choosing to inspect her complexion with an unprecedented interest instead.  
  
"I think that tomorrow will be fun either way." 


	25. Bed of Roses

Chpt25: Bed of Roses.  
  
Severus Snape awoke to the sound of rain falling in the outside world. It was late. well, as late as one could consider nine o'clock to be; but to a man that made a habit of rising a 5am, nine could most certainly be considered late.  
  
Outside, the sun was slowly beginning to overpower the sheets of rain that had began to fall on the previous night, and the effect was a cacophony of colour and light that would alter and distort faster than the viewer could blink. In his chambers, however, Snape was not aware of the rainbow of colours that glittered on each windowpane or flagstone, nor was he aware of the soft murmurings of the wind as it teased the frozen grass with gentle whispers. At this moment, all that Severus Snape was aware of was of the extreme absence of one thing.  
  
For many nights now, he had been plagued by a dream. A dream, moreover, not a nightmare or a demon of the sleep, merely a dream that should have warmed the soul. But it did not.  
  
This dream had only reminded him of everything that he had spent so many years trying to forget; that he had lived his life without actually stopping to think he about where he was going. Had that not been how he had become a Death Eater? How he had carelessly thrown away the lives of countless civilians?  
  
But something had happened, something that had come before the dream - that had caused the dream, perhaps, as the light within himself had begun to choke and flare into the spark of hope of what had once been.  
  
When people are alone, they will sometimes meet someone that looks a certain way, or has something in their smile. Someone that makes them feel a little less alone. But it is wrong to hope. Only a fool would see a beautiful pool and admire it for its beauty, only a fool would dare to look at it and hazard to hope that shoals of piranhas were not hidden in its depths.  
  
It did not do to dwell on the hopes and dreams that a man would share with himself in the deepest watches of the night when even he could not see their true identities.  
  
Snape opened his eyes again, stretching and yawning as he slid out of the bed, his feet padding on the cold stone floors.  
  
The dream had not returned. He was free, and his heart rejoiced in that he was not alone. No matter how dark his thoughts should become, Heather Gates had promised to be there with him.  
  
He was not alone.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Ron caught the ball as it bounced off the wall, and threw it back again with well-practised ease.  
  
"So," he began, launching the ball again, "Does anyone know what the hell happened?"  
  
The two other people in the room shrugged and kicked their feet uncomfortably.  
  
"I mean," he glanced at Ginny, "it's not normal, is it, even for a girl?"  
  
"Ron, the mood-swings that you males so often put down to PMS are mostly just the results of you guys being such irritating arseholes!"  
  
"In which case, we're back to square one. Hermione must have found herself a boyfriend of some sort." Harry intruded, catching the ball mid flight and throwing it from one hand to the other as he tried to think clearly.  
  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Ron waved his wand, producing another ball that was identical in colour and size to the last. Ginny sat down exasperatedly and tugged at the hair that fell about her face.  
  
"That just doesn't make sense though, I mean, why would Hermione want to hide something like this? And anyway," she paused, "wouldn't you have heard about it from the boy involved?"  
  
Harry nodded, "You're right, Ginny, guys can't help but brag, and I'm sure that whoever was going out with Hermione would be glad to let everyone know that he'd won her over."  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow but refused to allow herself to comment, saying instead, "Well, surely that can only mean that she's been seeing someone outside of the school."  
  
Harry nodded and looked over his shoulder at Ron. "What do you think, Ron?"  
  
"I think it's a bloody brilliant idea! And, gee, just for the record," he grinned, "I would like to say that I am not in any way smug that the idea that I suggested ages ago and was dismissed by you is now the most viable."  
  
Slightly perplexed, the other two stared at him before bursting into gales of laughter.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
In her room, the subject of the ongoing discussion was busily writing an essay.  
  
The Ball would be on Tuesday, but unfortunately, Hermione Granger was still stuck on Sunday morning. Never in the history of man had the clocks been known to tick to slowly, the seconds lengthening to the size of fully-grown elephants as they laboriously tried to move the hands of time forward.  
  
Tomorrow would be Monday, she thought, closing the textbook in front of her and setting her quill aside and looking out the window in front of her. Without going outside, or opening the window, she knew that it was a beautiful day, and she could almost feel the wind as it whistled past her ears.  
  
Standing resolutely, she crossed the room and opened the wardrobe door, taking out her plain black school robes, specially designed in some long past unknown century by a witch with maximum heat-retention in mind. Wrapping it about her, and adding a standard Gryffindor scarf as the final touch, she exited the room, leaving it locked and warded as a matter of habit.  
  
The journey through Hogwarts was oddly uneventful. Oddly, of course, in comparison to its usual furore, yet rather normal - considering the fact that it was seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Hermione, however, did not feel the silence about her.  
  
She may have felt it, perhaps, back in her first year, in a time that she did not now have the inclination to recall. But that Hermione was gone now.  
  
In a dramatic gesture, of departure, she threw up her hands, saying "adieu!" as though to the invisible fraction of her past self that had chosen to linger through to present life. Then, bursting into an embarrassed smile and giggling slightly, she turned around, checking that no one had seen result of the mental conversation that she had been having with herself.  
  
The stairway was still empty, and she continued on her journey, greeting the paintings that waved and called out from the walls.  
  
The result of what she had set into motion when she had first decided to venture into Hogsmeade all those many weeks ago would have to be seen now, and although she was uncertain of how it would end, she knew one thing for sure; she was head, body and soul in love with Severus Snape. Never in her wildest, most confused dreams had she imagined that she could feel this for anyone - especially him - or that he would actually allow her to indulge her whim.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Destiny has a funny way  
  
When it comes and takes all your cares away.  
  
I can't think of a single thing  
  
Other than what a beautiful state I'm in.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The day was swept up in the pre-Ball commotion, and soon enough, classes had ended, and Hermione had been rushed off into the heart of Gryffindor Tower by Ginny Weasley, after all, "the preparation process simply HAS to start the day before!"  
  
Following a strict regime of depilatory spells and intensive moisturising (along with a couple of mud-packs, manicures, pedicures, and various other treatments), Hermione was eventually allowed to flop back into her bed, feeling exhausted (yet oddly refreshed), and let out a long breath.  
  
Ginny crept onto the corner and grinned, her skin positively glowing.  
  
"Trust me, Hermione, we are going to stun and dazzle tomorrow!"  
  
"I would have settled for something more usual that required half the work!"  
  
"More usual?! Oh, really, Hermione, I would have thought that you wanted to make an impression, you know, like back in your fourth year."  
  
Hermione snorted, remembering how many hours she had spent preparing for her supposed 'hot date' with Viktor.  
  
This time, the Ball wouldn't be the time to make her impression, it would be the after-show party.  
  
"You still haven't told me who you're going with," Ginny commented, trying not to sound eager.  
  
"That's because I'm going alone.  
  
(gasp)  
  
I'm glad Harry got his act together and asked you out - it's about bloody time!"  
  
"How can you be going alone, Hermione?! This is the last Yule Ball you'll be able to go to here, you need a date!"  
  
Hermione didn't reply, choosing to inspect her complexion with an unprecedented interest instead.  
  
"I think that tomorrow will be fun either way." 


	26. See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Date No Evil

Chpt27: See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Date No Evil.  
  
It was seven thirty, and Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Groupie, Head Girl, role model of all academics currently at Hogwarts, was still in her dorm, standing in front of the mirror and glaring disapprovingly at her reflection. What had originally seemed to be such a simple plan (make dress, choose colour, go to ball, change colour, go to see - swoon - Severus) was now turning out to be a not-so-simple and terribly indecisive plan.  
  
Well, ok, it wasn't the plan that was indecisive (can plans even BE indecisive?!) , it was her. How could she not have thought of this before? With the million and more colours that were presented on the spectrum, how was she meant to choose just one? One out of a million! It was, quite simply, an impossible task.  
  
"Impossible, I tell you!" she shouted at the mirror, knowing that, could it talk, it would be making a sarcastic remark of some sort.  
  
She glanced at the room reflected before, searching for some sort of inspiration, and was forced to acknowledge - for the first time in her seven years as student - that the décor of Gryffindor Tower was more than monothematic, it was very. *Gryffindor*.  
  
The floor was of a rich, dark wood, and was mostly concealed by a large woven rug. It, like the curtains, the bed clothes and hangings, and even the leather writing place on the desk, was red; a deep red that was not quite crimson, and lacked the tangy shade of metal that would describe it as blood-red.  
  
Hermione had always thought of the Gryffindor colours as the fiery tones of the November lights, and the shared warmth between a Phoenix's golden feathers. But at this moment, that which was usually a comfort seemed dull and tarnished; monotony had suddenly become the eighth deadly sin.  
  
What could possibly break the normality that surrounded her? What could intrigue and inspire?  
  
She closed her eyes and thought of faraway days when magic had been nothing but a dream, and remembered the countless fairytales that she had cherished. She thought of the first time that she had truly felt her love of learning.  
  
She had been seven, her eyes wide with anticipation as the culmination of her four-week holiday had culminated with a visit to the Northern Lights. They had sparkled above the horizon like the beacons of forsaken spirits, each one carrying a small light in their palms, hoping that one day they would be released.  
  
Hermione had seen them and had been lost for words, stopping to admire its revered beauty, and had then pestered her parents for every scrap of information about the Aurora that they could remember.  
  
*Make it blue*, the memory whispered to her, *Make it pink!* it quickly amended. *Make it BLUE!*  
  
Lifting her wand, Hermione pointed at the dress, and painted it in the soft tones of a lily; white, but for the subtle tint of pink that crept into the material, highlighted by stronger shades around the bodice. The sheets of satin fell about her, and Hermione stared into the mirror. She could see herself wearing this dress as a bride, could almost see the people around her as the handfasting ceremony took place. Quickly turning away, she changed the colour to the first thing that she could think of - a blue so dark that it was almost black, and as it drew light from the room, it encircled her in darkness, making her features gain a tanned, mystical quality. Her hair suddenly seemed three shades darker than it was, her eyes deep with hidden knowledge.  
  
She did not wish to play the role of seductress.  
  
Still pointing her wand at the robes, she allowed her mind to skim over various other colours, barely allowing them a second before a swift judgement had been passed and the next colour appeared. The many shades of blue, cream, red and violet came and went, with only the slightest of pauses occasionally, but Hermione was still displeased, finally, the scheme moved to green, and she stopped on one of the darker tints.  
  
Still gazing fixedly at the dress in the mirror, she changed the material again, this time to velvet, and felt the falling sheaths of fabric thicken and grow heavy.  
  
The sleeves fell down from her shoulders, widening until they flared out from her hands in wide arcs. The square collar was defined by a velvet corset, still woven in tiny beaded flowers that were invisible but to the observant viewer that saw them glistening subtly in the light. The skirts were not vast, but the abundant texture of the velvet gave an appearance of fullness, and Hermione remembered the illustrations of sixteenth century nobles that she had seen.  
  
She felt like royalty, and remembered thinking that she looked like an Ice Queen in the pale Yule Ball blue. This green made her feel that way again, but not so much the ruler of winter and ice, as the monarch of the New World that she had encountered.  
  
Slytherin did not seem so bad in this light.  
  
Wrapping a cloak over her shoulders, she warded her rooms, and crept into the deserted corridors of Hogwarts.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
As soon as he had left the warmth of the great hall, the Potions Master had headed towards the dungeons, but had quickly encountered an unexpected obstacle.  
  
"Where are you going Severus?" she said, her wiry voice rising and falling in a dazed, unmelodious singsong.  
  
"Why Professor," his lip curled disagreeably, "what a pleasant surprise it is to find you so far from your charming little nest in the attics. Surely you did not abandon your shelter for the sake of the Ball."  
  
He had not phrased it as a question, had not, moreover, intended it to be a question, in fact, even as he uttered the words, he made to step around her and leave.  
  
The Seer, however, had other ideas. "I have no interest in the Ball," she snapped, clicking her tongue indignantly, her voice harsh, empty. "I am here to see that fate is done. I have seen grave deeds, and so I ask you, Severus Snape, where are you going?"  
  
Staring down at her, Snape merely retorted, "I assume that your question is solely metaphorical, and refrain from telling you that I am on my way to my quarters."  
  
"Ha! Snape, who are you to judge what is rhetorical, metaphorical, or literal! You are a fool, and grave deeds are at hand."  
  
He rolled his eyes, "Sybil, grave deeds are always at hand - you forget that the great Harry Potter still resides within the school walls. Perhaps you should speak to him." Stepping back slightly, he waved towards the hall's closed doors. "He's in there, disguised as some sort of servant in cross-gartered yellow stockings."  
  
Trelawney gave him an infuriated look, and Snape pretended to mistake it for puzzlement, "It must be a Muggle thing," he clarified.  
  
"You are too stubborn and too blind to see what the Fates have shown us Severus, and when these deeds have encumbered you, you will remember my words! Beware the burning of the Snake!"  
  
"Beware the burning of the Snake?" he said, "at least 'Beware the Ides of March' was original, but, I mean, really, Beware the burning of the Snake?!"  
  
Trelawney's eyes widened to the size of tennis-balls, and she shouted, "Beware the burning of the Snake! Beware the burning of the Snake!" Retreating, she turned with a flourish and made to sweep from the vicinity, but her over-long moth-eaten robes promptly tangled themselves in her feet and sent her flying into the air in an ungracious arch.  
  
Snorting as only a supremely satisfied person can, Severus showed her how it was really done, and made his usual dramatic exit.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
They spoke to me at Midnight  
  
but what they wished to say  
  
were not the words I speak to thee,  
  
for as they did away  
  
They warned me that my soul and yours  
  
did surf upon the winds and  
  
in the hour when darkness dawns  
  
you'd account for both our sins.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The passageway was oddly quiet as Hermione entered via the door from Hogsmeade. Many of the characters in the paintings had disappeared - gone to join in the festivities within the main building; and when the friendly Duke at the entrance did nothing but to courteously bow his head when she greeted him, Hermione had felt the millions of tiny hairs behind her neck stand up on end. Her footfalls echoed as she made her way down towards the gargoyles, glancing at the various empty landscapes that lined the walls. Even the two vulgar guardians of Snape's quarters withheld their usual obscene mutterings, choosing to merely leer down at her and glance at each other in a way that caused Hermione to wrap her cloak more closely around herself.  
  
"La vie est morte," she said, her voice gliding over the words with a refined comfort found only in those cultured in the foreign tongues. The door, however, did not budge.  
  
She repeated the password uneasily, glancing up and down the deserted passageway as though the solution to this might be hidden in its walls, but she could think of nothing. Feeling the tight knot of worry that was building in her gut, she pushed the door, and fell back with a small cry of surprise. It swung open, silent and swift, beseeching her to enter.  
  
Inside, perched comfortably on the great mahogany table, was Wystetia, Snape's familiar, and she was singing. 


	27. A Fickle Flower

Chpt28: A Fickle Flower.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"He want to be with everything under the sun;  
  
She wants to burn hot like that sun.  
  
And like a Legend that rises and falls, I cannot be his only one.  
  
And like a fickle flower when it first sees the light,  
  
I cannot show just how I fight.  
  
I know you want to drink from the purest wine  
  
but the drink is far more sour than you would ever think."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The music was beautiful, the bird's voice soaring through the air, weaving intricate harmonies as it raised its gloriously dark head. The table at its feet was ornately adorned with plain silver dishes and cutlery than somehow seemed to shine more than the plates at any King's table ever could. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, listening calmly, letting her mind paint the colours that Wystetia's voice defined.  
  
Suddenly, her eyes opened. "Stop! Be quiet!" The bird ignored her words, and swiftly flew away as she stepped toward it, never faltering in its song.  
  
"Severus?! Severus, are you here?" she called, moving towards the circular library that branched out from the main room.  
  
It was empty, and still there was no reply. "Severus? Where are you?!"  
  
She was afraid for him - how long had he been in here, would Wystetia's song have affected him already? As she headed to one of the other doors, it opened, and Severus stepped out. His skin was pale, paler than usual, she thought, and he looked so tired.  
  
"Heather, you're here. Forgive me, I had. I had a few things to do and didn't hear you come in." He looked up, towards the bookshelf by the fireplace. "Wystetia," he called, "enough."  
  
Immediately, the singing stopped, and without the melody, the room seemed to darken considerably.  
  
"Doesn't her voice affect you?" she asked incredulously, her eyes registering his eyes, his face, his posture. This was not the Severus Snape that she had become so used to, he had the appearance of someone that had only recently suffered great toil, and his proud shoulders slumped defensively as he went across to the table.  
  
"I had hoped to welcome you in." He shrugged and offered her some wine. "Wystetia is very special. She knows what her voice can do to us - to me, and is silent, but I am not so cruel as to bind her to silence until her life and her nature have withered away into nothingness. She knows when to sing." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
  
"I must go to my classroom for a moment, Heather - I do not wish to leave you here alone, and yet, if you would wait, I would be very honoured."  
  
Hermione smiled, he would always be the gallant gentleman. "I wouldn't leave you for the world!" she said, and placed a light kiss on his lips. "Don't worry about me, I'll be okay."  
  
He nodded and slipped out of the third door, one that stood on the wall beside the fireplace.  
  
As he left, Wystetia ruffled her feathers and cooed softly, and when the room was empty, she turned to regard Hermione, her great blue-black eyes staring at her from across the room.  
  
After a while, she ruffled her feathers again and flew down onto the floor, proceeding to hop over to where Hermione sat and gaze up at her again.  
  
"What do you want?" The Fwooper, a bird as she was, was very much like her human owner, and Hermione felt bare beneath its vigil. It cocked its head and cooed again, and Hermione reached down to touch its head. It cooed again and flew up onto her knee.  
  
"Oh, you like me now, is that it?" she laughed, stroking the shimmering feathers. "Well, you know what, I'm glad because I like you too, precious. Ooh, you're lovely aren't you!"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
This is how Severus found them, twenty minutes later, when he walked back into the room looking much refreshed. "I see that you have been getting to know each other," he commented, raising his eyebrows in amusement.  
  
"Indeed we have, and I think that we're going to be the best of friends, don't you, precious?" Looking away from the bird, she watched Snape's swift graceful stride and quickly dismissed any doubts that she had had before. "All was well, I presume?"  
  
He nodded, waving his wand dramatically to fill the huge platters with enough food to have fed at least seven people. "Are you expecting company?!" she exclaimed, even though the table was set for two.  
  
He smiled. "No. Tonight, I want you to eat and drink to your heart's content, and then, I want you to dance with me."  
  
"You dance, Professor?" she feigned an innocent sort of shock.  
  
"Quite well."  
  
She laughed, "And here I was, about to applaud your modesty at keeping such a talent hidden from the world!"  
  
"Why be modest when one can be direct?" He pulled a chair out for her, saying softly, "join me."  
  
He didn't let her leave the table until he was certain that she could eat no more, and then, he swept her up onto her feet and asked, "does m'lady prefer Classical, Baroque, or Romantic?"  
  
"Oh, what a question, Severus! How could I possibly choose between them? You choose, I'll dance to anything as long as it's with you."  
  
He laughed but was adamant that she choose, "Well, on one hand you have Vivaldi, Bach, Albinoni,"  
  
"Handel," she offered helpfully.  
  
"And Handel; then there's Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven; not forgetting the Romantic composers like Schubert and Chopin." He gestured expressively at their names, emphasising their greatness, and waited eagerly for her to make a choice.  
  
"I love music, Severus, and if you chose to dance to the latest WarlockBoys single I would gladly dance with you all night and develop a permanent urge to get up and jive every time someone so much as mentioned "Sugarquill Charmer" within my hearing range.  
  
"Very well," he replied, and Hermione melted into his smile, forgetting to even notice what music he had chosen and choosing instead to rest her head against him and sway to the nameless melody. She could feel his even, regular breath beneath her cheek, feel the gentle stroke of his thighs against hers as he led the dance. Every inch of Snape seemed to be touching some part of her as they moved, igniting an almost tangible spark of heat in her belly. A spark that spread and filled every nerve in her body until she could think of nothing but the man that was carefully weaving her hair around his fingers, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.  
  
He held her secure, pinned against his tall, all-male form, every slow, purposeful brush of his body against hers scalding her senses inducing her to burn with the kind of need that only making love could assuage.  
  
The thought frightened her; she had never wanted anyone that much and somehow the fear that he inspired in her also gave comfort and encouragement.  
  
Snape's kiss on her forehead brought her back from her reverie, and she realised that they had stopped moving.  
  
"Okay?" he asked, with the slightest hint of curiosity. His eyes shone in the firelight, his features calm, relaxed, his arms still flush about her.  
  
Her heart grew with the emotions that filled her, and she smiled, replying, "Perfect," and provided him with a soft kiss of reassurance. She felt breathless. Nothing in the world could possibly matter more than this Man standing before her.  
  
Looking into his eyes, she said, "I want to tell you some thing."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
His expression seemed to stick for a moment, somewhere between surprise, doubt, and the unexpected hint of fondness that often lingered in his gaze. He closed his eyes and took a long, pained breath. "Heather, I don't think- "  
  
She placed her fingers over his lips to silence him. "No," she answered, "I- I think. I want you to know. I want you to. to understand. You don't have to say anything, just believe. That's all I - just believe."  
  
Her hand slid down to the material over his chest, and she clung to it, taking a deep ragged breath.  
  
Uncertainty filled her. Was it too soon? How would her react to her declaration? Would her words change everything that had grown between them? Sweeping the doubts aside, she looked into his eyes and spoke the words.  
  
"I'm in love with you Severus Snape." Each word was like a dagger plunging into her heart, tearing the truth from her very being. "Somehow, in our time together, I found myself falling for you. Falling hard."  
  
Snape opened his mouth to speak, incredulity brimming in his eyes, but Hermione quickly silenced him. "No, don't say anything." The last thing that she wanted was to make him feel obliged to make a similar proclamation. If he ever said. if it ever happened, it would not be because she had cornered him into a sense of duty, or because he felt pity for her foolishness.  
  
Even now, as she saw the shock in his expression, she felt a part of her melt away, feeling stupid for having made such a confession.  
  
Wanting to erase the moment from their current thoughts, she asked, in a voice that masterfully tried to conceal her inner humiliation, "Please, just kiss me?"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Snape didn't move, her words still ringing in his ears even as her request was registered by his mind. It couldn't be true. He had imagined it, only a hallucination would echo through his consciousness as though each word was being spoken a million times.  
  
Eager to find something that could be rationalised, he leaned down and slanted careful kisses over her mouth, his lips barely brushing hers as her eyes fluttered shut. He was left to regard this wondrous beauty through still-wide eyes, and to marvel as she let out a soft whimper to rebuke the teasing caresses.  
  
I'm in love with you, Severus Snape.  
  
He kissed her more forcefully, teasing her mouth open with swift strokes of his tongue a little piece of his very own personal Utopia.  
  
Hermione moaned and clung to him, // Don't let me go! // she thought, // Don't let me fall! //  
  
She could feel the tension that had been building within her coil and burn into a steady fire that branded her as Severus Snape's with every fibre of her being. She arched into him, and he groaned, his voice deep and rumbling, his burgeoning erection hot between them.  
  
Hermione could sense her fear growing into a furious desperation to capture the moment, to take what he was willing to give her and to store the memory of it for all eternity. Tugging him through the doorway, she backed down onto the edge of the bed and stared up at the tower of darkness that stood tall above her, the moon shining behind him as his eyes glittered with intent.  
  
Those eyes, she felt, those eyes truly were the doors to the real Severus Snape. The toil of countless years had taught him to mask his true thoughts through his face and body, but she felt as though even if he tried to lie to her, his eyes would show the truth. Would show her who he was. Death Eater. Traitor. Professor. Lover. Man.  
  
Blazing with an inner fire, he stared down at her for a moment, watching as the silver moonlight cast shadows over her features. "What are you thinking?" she asked, feeling suddenly courageous.  
  
He leant over her and left a trail of electricity as he slid his hands over the bare skin of her shoulders and whispered, "I'm thinking how beautiful you look. I'm thinking. how beautiful you'll look when I've removed your dress."  
  
She closed her eyes at that lusty thought but could not shut out the shiver of anticipation that poured down her spine.  
  
I'm in love with you.  
  
The words still echoed in his mind as he undid the delicate clasps of her dress, pausing to shrug off his cloak and the waistcoat that he had worn as part of his disguise in the hall. With a spark of amusement, he noted his partner's apparent horror at the hundreds of tiny white buttons that would need to be undone. He was not surprised, however, to see her expression become one of steely determination as she tugged the shirt out from his trousers and set about the task of undoing them.  
  
Hermione did not allow herself to be set back by what seemed to be millions of buttons, and made to undo each one in turn. She had only managed three before the urgency of her arousal that caused her to fumble with the tiny fastenings forced her to accept that it was an impossible task.  
  
"Dishabillious," Snape murmured the simple word that was a blessing to her eager hands, leaving him bare to her eyes. He chuckled at her squeal of relief, and kissed her thoroughly whilst discarding he garments to the forgotten pile on the floor.  
  
"Green is most definitely your colour," he whispered, noting the delicacy of her paleness against the dark sheets, remembering how she had shone like a queen in the green dress robes. He angled his head down to Hermione's soft mouth with a devastatingly direct hunger that shot down to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the strange mixture of body heat and cool cloth beneath her own excited skin as she melted into Severus' arms, lost in her love for him.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
She didn't sleep until past midnight. She had spent the time watching the angular planes of his face as they were highlighted, then cast into shadow by the luminous beams of moonlight. She could feel Snape's slow, even breath as she held him close; his features were totally relaxed, his lips curling upwards slightly at the corners.  
  
She'd told him that she loved him, and he hadn't turned her away. He hadn't laughed or scorned her. If she watched him carefully enough, she could almost convince herself that he might care for her a little too. Just a little. Probably just enough not to embarrass her when she was as vulnerable as the declaration had made her.  
  
For now, however, she didn't want to think about what had and had not been said, and sighing contentedly, Hermione rested her head on his chest and finally fell into a deep slumber. 


	28. The Supposed Crime

Chpt29: The Supposed Crime.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
What part of our history's reinvented and under the rug swept?  
  
What part of your memory is selective and tends to forget?  
  
What's with this distance, it seems so obvious?  
  
This could be messy and  
  
I don't seem to mind  
  
Don't go telling everybody  
  
And overlook this supposed crime.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The Potion had lasted far longer than he had expected. In fact, it he was extremely relieved that the amount that he had taken the previous night - three times his usual dosage - hadn't knocked him out cold. His relief was short lived, however, as another poker-hot wave of pain spread through his body.  
  
Hermione was asleep beside him, her arms wrapped tightly around him in the comforting embrace that had reassured him in his sleep. He closed his eyes and inhaled the soft scents of lavender and jasmine, wishing beyond hope that this curse was not his to bear. A curse that was of his own making. Mandrake root, phoenix tears, powdered dragon scales. it had taken him years to find something - anything, that might offer him a solution, but even those years of toil could not subdue the inevitable reminder that his mistakes were not forgotten.  
  
Carefully rolling Hermione's sleeping form away, he slipped out of the bed, his feet hitting the icy stone floors and padding softly as he moved; quietly muttering cleansing and shaving spells, then dressing in heavy black robes, his wand concealed deep within the sleeves.  
  
It was still dark - nearing the darkest hours, and from the doorway, he could just about identify the small mound on the bed that was Heather Gates, so taking a deep breath, he turned away and closed the bedroom door.  
  
Soft firelight flickered from across the room, highlighting what silverware had been left by the house elves. The food was gone, and the plates, but the large beaker of drink remained along with two glasses. His mind was filled with images of Heather; her smile, her teasing laughter, the complete sense of ease that she emanated when with him.  
  
She did not seem to fear or despise him as most people did, she wasn't even wary of his past. But the Dark Lord was smart. He sensed peoples' weaknesses before even they had a chance to discover them, and even Snape could see that Heather Gates had every chance of becoming the chink in his armour.  
  
If he spent all his time worrying over what foolish situation she'd got herself into because of him, he would endanger more than his credibility as a Death Eater. He would endanger her life.  
  
He shuddered at the thought and put a hand over the Dark Mark on his forearm. She hadn't said anything the night before, had only hesitated slightly when her touch had skimmed over its contours. The Potion was not so strong that it could prevent the change in texture, even if pain and colour could be evaded. But she had not asked, and he would not explain. His role was meant to be secret. To tell even those who might understand would be to risk everything that the Order had achieved. And how could a woman care for someone that was still a member of Voldemort's ranks?  
  
He took a deep breath and walked purposefully towards his private library. If all she did was "care", this might be easier, but last night she had said she loved him and Snape felt compelled to believe her, regardless of whether or not he should. Regardless of whether or not he knew what her actual identity was. For some reason, she made him feel totally irrational. The situation was balanced precariously between the familiar and the sheer drop into the dangerous and unknown. Snape wondered what on earth it was that he'd got himself into, and how, HOW he was going to get out of it.  
  
He scrawled a quick note on a torn piece of parchment, barely even thinking about what came out on the crinkled surface of the sheet, his mind elsewhere as he folded it until it was ridiculously small and then sealed it shut with wax. When he handed it to Wystetia, she sang a single soft questioning note, which he did not heed, choosing instead to mull over what course this night would take. This night. This life.  
  
The 'V' between his eyebrows deepened, enhanced by the flickering firelight that shadowed its groove. He would go, of course, this at least was not debatable, but afterwards.  
  
Fists clenched, Snape marched towards the door; he was going to do it. He had to. Severus Snape was not the man that would risk everything when the solution was clear, even if the promised solution would have the power to break him and what few shards of confidence he allowed himself.  
  
The Dark Mark burned. As the potion faded the Mark'' effects grew stronger. Colour began to seep into his arm gradually, slowly, like the grey mist and morning mildew that steadily thickened into fog and then complete darkness. Night.  
  
She would be gone when he returned. Gone. He doubted that Heather Gates would ever be back, but at least he'd know that she was alive and not a member of the honorary Death Eaters' hit list.  
  
Better safe than sorry, wasn't that what they said? Better safe than sorry.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Skin prickled with cold, and the silver mask adamantly refused to grow warm with the soft heat of his face and breath beneath it. In the centre of the circle, the Dark Lord paced, taking news from the Death Eaters that were gathered there.  
  
Fudge was trying to train quintapeds - or so they wanted Voldemort to believe. Dumbledore would be extremely pleased to find that their ruse had worked, and that Eden Summers had indeed been leaking information. With the IQ of a wasp in winter, however, the slip in information might have more to do with her gossiping tendencies than with a genuine attempt to defect. Precautions would have to be taken, however, whatever that half-witted secretary's intentions were.  
  
Listening carefully, he found that Lucius Malfoy had acquired a collection of rare and deadly poisons - it would be Severus' task to study and reproduce them.  
  
The Death Eaters continued to report the various rumours, confirmed events that they had heard of or witnessed, and when Voldemort was satisfied, he turned to them, and said; "The tides are in our favour."  
  
His voice was ice cold, barely more than a whisper as his slitted eyes narrowed viciously.  
  
"Dovovan, come forward."  
  
The tall form of Adrian Dovovan stepped into the circle. The metal planes of his mask flashed eerily in the night. Snape remembered teaching him three years before Voldemort's final ascent. The boy had been foolish and headstrong, much like his father. Perhaps their fates would also be similar - to be captured and condemned to the Kiss. Surely, his moronic attempts to avenge his father's death could only lead to his own demise.  
  
The youth bowed his head, uttering a soft "My Lord."  
  
"I have a task for you," the Dark Lord said, sweeping towards him, then pausing to add, "Berkeley, Manrick, Snape; forward!"  
  
He continued to regard Dovovan, and Snape's gut constricted - Voldemort's "special tasks" were rarely short of blood and carnage. Being chosen to participate in one was not an honour which he regarded as desirable. Trying to erase any doubts, he listened cautiously for the Dark Lord's next words.  
  
"My loyal Death Eaters," he began mockingly, before stopping abruptly, his face contorting into one of manic rage.  
  
"There is a traitor among us, and tonight they will pay." 


	29. The Road to Nowhere

Chpt30: The Road to Nowhere.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
What do I do to ignore them behind me?  
  
Do I follow my instincts blindly?  
  
Do I hide my pride  
  
from these bad dreams  
  
And give in to sad thoughts that are maddening?  
  
Do I  
  
sit here and try to stand it?  
  
Or do I  
  
Try to catch them red-handed?  
  
Do I trust some and get fooled by phoniness,  
  
or do I trust nobody and live in loneliness?  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Traitor." The word rang out shrilly in his ears. Mutiny was not unheard of, but its mention struck fear in the depths of his soul. What little soul he felt that he had left.  
  
Each second stretched out into a million centuries as he tried to count his breaths, keeping them even. The slightest hitch of breath or stiffening of the jaw would arouse suspicion I the Dark Lord, regardless of the mask that should have concealed the fault.  
  
Uncomfortably aware of the distance between himself and the rest of the Death Eaters behind him, he stared straight ahead into the shadows.  
  
"Typically," the Dark Lord commenced, "I would deal with the matter myself, but on this occasion I shall allow those. loyal to me to share the honour." He sounded amused, as one would if casually commenting on a broken nail than a man's life. Holding out his hand, he looked at each Death Eater in turn; Adrian Dovovan, Hestia Berkeley, Alan Manrick, and finally to Snape. Prepared for the unmasking as Voldemort eyed him maliciously, he almost gasped in surprise as the damning circle was cast upon Manrick instead, and his mask was flung into the fire.  
  
"Learn his face!" Voldemort told the others as Manrick's claims of innocence were magically silenced by the flames. "This is the last time that he shall be seen drawing breath!"  
  
Then, as one of the three selected, Snape was set to the task of torturing the wretched man, and preparing him for Voldemort's final blow.  
  
Severus had always imagined what it would be like for his one name to be called at an unmasking. It was inevitable that this should one day happen, and at times, in his darkest moments, he had almost longed for the consuming flames that would free him of this worldly deceit. Mendacity. His entire life had been founded in mendacity, and as he held his wand against the only ally he had within Voldemort's ranks, he knew that evil would always prosper. In a world where lies were of such essence.  
  
Each spell was uttered as though against himself, every word was aimed to punish not Rickman, but himself. He had been stupid. He had no use for Crucio; his magics were varied enough to torture a person within a hair's breadth of death, and hold them there until he so wish to release them.  
  
Eventually, Voldemort tired of the sport, and vanquished at last, the body was left to be consumed by the fires, the black smoke rising into the sky as a beacon that would last until the following night, disperse by neither magic nor wind.  
  
Alan Manrick. Snape added yet another name to the list that he would never forget. Hundreds of faces, both known and unknown that would haunt him for all eternity, seeking him out even in death. The image of Manrick's face, his disbelieving expression when his identity was revealed was imprinted onto Snape's mind; the horrified look when he had realised his fate, when he had sought Snape's gaze and realised that he would not find help in him. No, that image could not be forgotten. Apparating back to Hogsmeade, Severus opened the hidden door in the alley behind Honeydukes and stepped in, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Flickering candlelight illuminate the hall, casting eerie shadows as he walked past the few ornaments that had been unable to join the festivities. Statues, carved out of stone, could not travel as the characters in a painting could - they were fixed to their plinths and doomed to remain there, bound by fate and duty, imprisoned by the choices that had been given to them.  
  
Reaching for his own door Snape hesitated. It was 3am, and Heather Gates would probably still be inside, asleep, her hair fanning out over his pillows. He stood there for a moment, his hand half raised to undo the wards, his mind wandering to a different plane altogether as the mask which he had been holding slid from his limp fingers and clattered loudly onto the ground. The sound echoed for an eternity, and Severus recalled how the tongues of crimson death had consumed his confederate, how he had squirmed and writhed on the floor, tearing at his own skin in desperation.  
  
***  
  
Put even one to out of place and I will kill you myself, do you understand? You have no idea - no idea - of what it is that you're getting yourself into. And I swear to you that if the cause comes under question I will not hesitate to decide between our cause, and. the cause of the problem. Do you understand? Don't make me have to choose, Manrick, I do not take kindly to ultimatums.  
  
***  
  
Manrick had been one of Fudge's great master plans. "Send him in!" he'd said eagerly, "Two spies in the ranks are bound to be of more effect than one, eh?" Severus had only met him once, in secret, to educate him on the certain. details entailed of one that would choose the Dark Lord's path. Bending down to retrieve his mask, he turned away from his chamber door and continued down the passageway, halting at the statue of a soaring phoenix.  
  
"Pink Chihuahua." He told it dispiritedly, having been informed of Dumbledore's newest discovery ("They're half the size of normal Chihuahuas, with saucer-like eyes and electric pink hair! Quote the novelty!"). The phoenix ruffled its stone-cast feathers and jumped aside, revealing a set of carved golden stairs (revolving, of course), that would lead up into the main building, and to the Headmaster's office.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"I must admit, Severus, I had a terrible shock when Wystetia appeared out of nowhere, right there in the great hall. I never imagined that he would choose today of all days to meet!"  
  
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, hands clasped on the wooden table between a short, pointy blue flannel hat and the feathery mass that was Snape's familiar.  
  
He nodded imperceptibly, and then realised that a reply was expected of him. "Manrick is dead." He informed the headmaster simply, his mind still dwelling on the memory of the other's countenance.  
  
Dumbledore stood up, his expression grim. "I had wondered how long Cornelius' plan would last. Fool." He tutted softly and shook his head. "Do you know where the gathering took place?"  
  
"There will be nothing left to collect, headmaster," he said, "not even ashes." Then, meeting Dumbledore's gaze he added, "Somewhere in Yorkshire, I think. The cloud of Death is there for all to see." A slight fluttering was heard, and Severus saw that Fawkes had laid his golden head on his feet, sending warmth into his body. Ever jealous and possessive, Wystetia also flapped across and eyed the phoenix with uninhibited disdain. Dumbledore smiled at the birds' concern and resumed his seat once more. I will write to Fudge - we must see to it that immediate precautions are taken to prevent further harm. He'll have to inform those necessary." He shuffled some papers on the desk, then paused. "Severus, you look exhausted. I should think that some Dreamless Sleep is in order, and a lie in. It's Christmas Day now, remember; no more classes until the New Year!"  
  
Nodding, Snape left, dumbly walking through the deserted school building, the silver mask still in his hands. The Dark Lord's gatherings had never affected him this much before, he thought, making his way down to the ground floor, his knuckles white as he gripped the banister. His breaths came in short bursts, and when he reached the entrance hall, Snape crossed it and pushed open the doors.  
  
The grounds were silent and still - an hour had passed since his return, and the few students that had not retired to their dorms would be either in the rose gardens ior in the astronomy tower. The moon, which had seemed to shine so profusely mere hours ago was nearing its last quarter and offered only enough guidance to lead him to the lake's farthest shore. Here, among the tangled reeds and sturdy branches of nearby trees, Snape had found a shelter. The four Gryffindors that had harassed him in his youth had not discovered it - or had thought it unworthy of their attentions - but he had found it and had cherished it as the only place that was truly his.  
  
Choosing not to sit on the mouldy stump that had once served as a stool, Snape fell to the ground instead, his long legs stretched out, uncaring of the moisture that seeped through his robes.  
  
The night had begun so well.  
  
His curiosity had been piquéd upon seeing the dark-haired lady at the Ball, and he had watched her dance noting that she too seemed an outsider. Then, just as he had been preparing for Heather Gates' arrival in the dungeons, the Mark had darkened. Even Yuletide celebrations could not banish Voldemort's evil. An evil in which he shared. Thinking back to the person that he had left sleeping in his bed, he could not imagine them together, not any more. For four blissful weeks he had been able to forget Voldemort, knowing only a strange serenity and compatibility that was altogether new to him. But Voldemort was not a threat that would so easily allow himself to be forgotten, and had now reasserted himself with the strength of a single unavoidable choice.  
  
Severus did not prize his own life, did not allow himself any great esteem, but now, he fearfully acknowledged that he. cherished the vital life of Heather Gates, and, knowing the risk that he had placed her in, he cringed, feeling foolish for having allowed her to get so close. Occlumency or no, Voldemort would know that something was amiss. Would know that -things- had changed. He would smell it in the air, tasting it on his forked serpent's tongue.  
  
As the first signs of the encroaching dawn seeped over the highland vales around Hogwarts, Severus Snape brought his knees up to his chest and held them close; The frost had settled onto his cloak and now ran down to the ground in narrow streams of moisture. He had wanted to spend Christmas Day with her, with Heather Gates. Christmas Eve would now have to suffice - forever. 


	30. Your Picture on my Wall

Chpt31: Your Picture on My Wall.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all;  
  
The morning rain clouds up my window and  
  
I can't see at all.  
  
Even if I could, it would all be grey,  
  
But your picture on my wall, it reminds me  
  
That it's not so bad.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
That the bed was cold should have alerted Hermione that something was wrong. Moreover, even after she had dreamily stretched one arm out across the bed and found nothing, it took her well over two minutes to awaken enough to note the bed's obvious emptiness.  
  
Peering out on a room that was lit only by the dim glow of early morning, everything was still.  
  
"Severus?" Hermione frowned, her thoughts still clouded by happiness and sleep. Pulling out a sheet to wrap around herself, she stepped out onto the stone floor and began to open doors: the rooms were empty and the only sound was that of the grandfather clock that loomed in the corner, and Hermione's own thundering heartbeat. Even Wystetia was absent, leaving her utterly alone. Where could he be? The fires were all long dead, and the table had been cleared - approaching it, Hermione reached out and gently took a rose out of the vase that stood in the centre: there were two, white, like beacons in the darkness, their petals full and pale. The stems were of crisp Slytherin green, and when Hermione took one, she saw that a delicate silver ribbon had been wrapped around its length - a true Slytherin Rose, rich in its quality and in the shining silver that spiralled it, and threatening as every thorn glimmered menacingly.  
  
It was 2am, and far away, a silver mask was being thrown into the fires of death. But Hermione knew nothing of this as she curled herself into one of the chairs before the empty hearth, her fingers gripping the rose so hard that blood seeped onto the petals, dying their edges a deep red and soaking them in the power of her love for Snape. Like this, numb to the pain, she waited for his return until worry and exhaustion overcame her and she fell into a restless sleep.  
  
When she next opened her eyes, it was already daylight and a thin drizzle had begun outside, reflected by the magical images of the ceiling. Snape's chambers were still empty, she was still alone. Standing slowly, she searched the rooms again, finding nothing, and finally, desperate for any reason to remain in this place that was so definitively his, she padded across to the bathroom and began to run a bath. Unlike her own bath, this one was a part of the room itself, made of dark slate, and forming almost half of the room's contents. It was huge, sweeping away from the walls in a graceful arc that was unobstructed by either rails or curtains of any kind. Inside was a single floating tap, floating in the magical sense that it did actually float (or more accurately, hover), providing the means for both a bath, and a shower, without the use for pipes, hand sets or extra taps. It was a luxury that she was sure Snape never made use of, being the sort of man that would look down on baths and so on.  
  
When the water was bright and frothy, she stepped out of the sheet and slid in, her mind mulling over the delicious idea that he might now return and find her there; her muscles still ached from the night before, a reminder of her love for him. And, moreover, a reminder of the success she had found in modifying the ageing potion. Without it she would have had to leave far too soon - long before their first loving had been over. Her eyes fluttered shut as she remembered how it had been, how he had teased her with feathery touches, how they had kissed each other's bodies and engraved them into their memories and how their amorous dances had continued as the night died. These recollections caused her stomach to tighten now, and she sat up quickly, brushing the soapsuds away from her eyes and glancing hopefully at the door. It did not open. Instead, she now turned her attentions to the sparse selection of bottles on the ledge of the bath. They were dark and unlabelled; their shapes similar to those used in the potions classrooms and stores. These bottles were trademarks of Snape's own fabrications - eulogy to his skill in brewing. Letting her curiosity get the best of her, she opened one, gingerly sniffing it and recognising the familiar scents of cinnamon and wheatgerm. Scents that mingled with coffee to form the Severus Snape that she had grown to love. Resisting the need to swathe herself in his smell, she had to rely on the traditional Hogwarts selection of bath crèmes from the tap and then reluctantly stepping out when her fingers and toes had become wrinkled and it was evident that Snape was not about to make an imminent return.  
  
Taking one of the towels, she dried herself, then dressed quickly, deciding not to replace the towel straight away but to take it with her (to return once clean, of course). To this effect, when she finally came to reluctantly leave, she took with her, not only the white-red rose, but also a towel that bore the embroidered initials SS in silver thread. By the time she had returned to the Gryffindor Tower, it was already past noon, and the icy sun was high in the sky, shrouded in the wintry mists of the Scottish moors. The rain drizzled musically against the windows, providing a backdrop for the few sleepy gatherings that were to be found in the common room. There was an atmosphere of easy calm in which Hermione felt altogether alien and uncertain, and she quickly retreated from it, choosing to go to the Hall. It was lunchtime, and there was a possibility that Severus would be found there. She knew that now that she had ended the potion's effects she could not approach him, but even the sight of him would comfort her a little, and assure her that he was safe, regardless of the lingering doubt that perhaps he had left her deliberately.  
  
Outside, on the shores of the lake, Severus himself remained completely still, soaked through, after hours of rain, numb even to the cold that filled and encircled him, a cold that had been a part of him for many years. It was nightfall once again, before he blindly stood and made his way back to the castle. She would be gone, by now, he knew.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hermione jumped up with a start. Christmas was over, and now that all her friends felt adequately rested and refreshed, they were finally able to begin chattering about the Ball, the celebrations, the gifts, the hassle that she had become accustomed to in the previous seven years. She had awoken early that morning to check the dungeons, only to be confronted by the irredeemably annoying Draco Malfoy, and had eventually given up in her attempts to outwit him. Now, having opened her bedroom door, she was shocked to find Ginny on her bed, lounging across her crimson sheets, stroking Crookshanks as though it were something that she did as a matter of habit.  
  
Genuinely glad to see her, she closed the door, saying a bright "Hey, Ginny!" and collapsing onto the bed beside them.  
  
Ginny grinned and sat up, her hair falling haphazardly over her shoulders as she launched into a 30-mph speech. "Oh my god, Hermione! The Ball was so much fun! I can't believe you didn't stay until the end of it! What was your disguise? It's so unfair, did you know that loads of people left before midnight?! I really wanted to know who everyone was! I mean, Seamus and I tried to figure out who some of the people were but everyone was using glamour charms and we only worked a few out. I'm surprised Dumbledore thought a masked ball would be a good idea at all - can you imagine what would have happened if someone had sneaked in? We wouldn't have even noticed them!" She stopped with a horrified look on her face then stared at Hermione thoughtfully.  
  
"What did you think of it? I know parties aren't really your thing, but it was pretty fabulous though, wasn't it?!"  
  
Hermione smiled and laughed, trying to remember the previous night, trying to think about anything other than the smartly dressed gentleman that had led her out for a dance at the end of the night, or the following dance and its consequences. "It was lovely," she said at last, a thoughtful half- smile on her lips that contrasted with the frown in her eyes. "I'm surprised that Dumbledore let us have wine though, especially as there was no age lock on who went."  
  
"Oh! I know! I overheard Filch fuming about drunken randy teenagers all over the school! Said he'd chain people to the ceiling if he found them doing anything indecent, regardless of what Dumbledore said!" The two girls cackled with laughter at the thought, finally falling into a comfortable silence.  
  
"Are you and Seamus going to make a go of it, then?" Hermione asked, remembering her hopeful glances towards Harry.  
  
She beamed and nodded, "I think so, I mean, we're not going to swear our undying love for each other, but I think we have a chance, you know, we've got a lot in common."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, and it turns out that his grandparents live in the village next to ours, so he might be able to come and visit during the holidays." She paused, "god, I sound pathetic, planning ahead like this," she blushed and looked at Hermione. "It's.."  
  
Hermione smiled and squeezed her arm, "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about! You two are going to make a great couple, trust me, he's been mooning over you since the start of term!"  
  
Ginny's whole face seemed to light up, "Really?!" she repeated Hermione's earlier question disbelievingly and swooned onto the pillow at the nod she received in reply. "Wow," she sighed, then added, "I guess I should be glad that Harry didn't ask me out. I think I'd kind of guessed that we didn't have a chance in the world, but it's just, you know, habit." She sat up. "It sounds so stupid, but I think that I still liked him because I'd done it for so long, and I thought that I should. My slot in life would be 'Ginny, the girl in love with Harry Potter'."  
  
"What's changed?"  
  
Ginny stared out the window for a moment, and finally said, "I couldn't say exactly what is different, but when I went to the ball I didn't care about figuring out who Harry was, or who he was dancing with, and afterwards I didn't care when he and Visa Silverstone went of together."  
  
"Silverstone? The Ravenclaw?"  
  
She nodded, "She's in my DADA group."  
  
"Do you like her?"  
  
"I don't know. I always thought she had a thing for Malfoy. I even heard that they -you know- a couple of times. She seems ok though, one of those people that you can't dislike even if you want to."  
  
Hermione paused, "Does Harry know about her and Malfoy?"  
  
"No. But I don't think we should say anything," she seemed about to add something, then stopped and said instead, "so how about you? Any luck last night? Who was your date?"  
  
She smiled, "No one. I went by myself and had a wonderful night, believe it or not!"  
  
"Fancy telling me about it over lunch?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows and smiled, "You wish."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Snape wasn't there at lunch while she dodged Ginny's questions, nor was he there that night at dinner, as the shadow of worry crept over Hermione's mind. Those students that had remained for the dance but wished to spend the holidays at home had left that morning, and now the castle was empty of their echoes. Shortly after sundown, she received a note, carried by one of the more stately school owls used by teachers. The parchment had been folded over and sealed with wax, and inspecting the crest, she saw a snake, coiled tightly around a sword as its blood dripped onto a bed of ivy beneath it. She had seen it before, of the ring with which the seal had been made. It was Snape's coat of arms.  
  
Hands shaking, she broke the seal and opened the letter, wondering why he would want to write to her. Had he discovered her secret? Was that why he had been gone for so long?  
  
The words within were curt and precise, Snape to the core:  
  
"There is to be a Potions Group for sixth and seventh years. You are expected at the dungeons tomorrow at 3 o'clock sharp.  
  
Professor S. Snape  
  
Potions Master."  
  
Re-reading the letter, she let out a sigh. There was nothing in his words to suggest that he knew of the role she had been playing for the last month, and she fell into the seat at her desk with exhausted relief, one hand clutching the phial at her neck, the other over the place where he had scratched his signature on the letter.  
  
"Hermione?" Ginny was standing in the doorway, and Hermione jumped to her feet, startled, trying to hide the letter in under the books on her desk.  
  
"Erm. hi," she muttered, "what's up?"  
  
The other girl stepped into the room and shut the door, "That's what I was wandering - didn't you hear me knocking?"  
  
She shook her head, no. "I was on another planet for a moment there, sorry."  
  
Pulling up a chair, Ginny set beside the desk and said simply, "Who is it?"  
  
Sinking back into her own seat, Hermione replied, "I don't know what you're talking about!" and pretended to pack away her revision notes.  
  
Ginny grabbed her hand, stopping the sudden flourish of movement and held it between both of her own, saying nothing, but speaking volumes.  
  
"I can't. It's a terrible mess, Gins, and just when I thought-" she fell silent. "It's nothing."  
  
Shaking her head, Ginny squeezed her hand, then sat back. "It's obviously not 'nothing'. You've been up and down like a seesaw for weeks, and your mind's been elsewhere all day. It can't be that bad, can it? You seemed so happy for a while.  
  
Instinctively, Hermione's hand went back up to the chain of her first true moment of happiness, and following the movement, Ginny remembered the flourish of activity at her entrance. "Was that a letter from him?"  
  
"No. Not exactly."  
  
Taking this to mean 'yes', she thought for a moment, then asked, "Do I know him, is he at Hogwarts?"  
  
She received a dumb nod in return, before continuing suddenly, "You're not ashamed of it, are you?"  
  
"No!" Hermione burst out immediately, then, thinking of how she had lied to Snape and to her friends, and how each would receive the truth, she amended weakly, "Yes." Two fat tears rolled down her cheek, and she brushed them aside hastily. Feeling traitorous and pathetic.  
  
"I won't judge you" Ginny said comfortingly.  
  
"You will. Everyone will, once this gets out, and everyone will know how stupid and deceitful I've been. Everyone will know that- that-"  
  
"That you fell in love with the worst person imaginable? I won't judge you, Hermione."  
  
So it was that between breathless tears, Hermione told her of how she had thought to find a part-time job in Hogsmeade, but had instead become fascinated with the Potions Master. She told of their confrontation, and her new identity, of how she had felt a connection between then that night in the rain, and how she had carelessly abandoned thought and slept with him only to feel disgusted for it afterwards. She told Ginny about the Visual Veritaserum, about how she had overheard him talking to McGonagall and how she had modified the ageing potion. She told her about the ball, and how they had danced, and how he had vanished on the same night. Then she told Ginny about falling in love with a man that did not - could not - know her name.  
  
An hour later, Ginny leaned back into her seat, having edged forward as the tale unravelled. "My god," she whispered, "all this in a month. no wonder you're a mess!" Slowly, she said, "Does he feel the same way, do you think, about Heather?"  
  
Hermione hid her face behind her hands. "I don't know. I- I think he does. He hasn't said anything, and I don't think he will, but. it's little things. Like the day when I didn't go, I think he waited for me for hours, and looked all round Hogsmeade for me."  
  
"And he knows how you feel?"  
  
She nodded, "On Christmas Eve. I didn't let him say anything, though. I didn't want him to feel cornered, you know? But maybe- maybe I just didn't want to hear him give his love to somebody who wasn't real." She rubbed her eyes dry and smoothed her skirt, trying to compose herself.  
  
"Wow." Was all that Ginny could say, her mind racing back over the details. "Snape. I never thought of him in that way." She turned the idea over in her mind then, mischievously, "What was it like?"  
  
Suddenly laughing at the absurdity of the situation, Hermione grinned, "Wonderful." she sighed, "I never would have even thought of him in that light, but now, I don't think I could want any other man! It sounds so perverse!" her mind fluttered downstairs, and she added, "he is perfect in every way."  
  
Ginny squealed with laughter, and the mood in the room tangibly shifted; the load was shared, she was no longer alone, and the grip over her heart loosened a little.  
  
"So what should I do now?" 


End file.
